THE  RED -HOT 
DOLLAR 

AND-OTHER-STORIES-FROM 

THE-BLACfrCAT 

H.D.UMBSTAETTER 

rK98V£"IW& 


JACK  LONDON 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY    OP 
CALIFORNIA 


6 ' 


THE   RED-HOT   DOLLAR 


THE  RED-HOT 
DOLLAR 

AND  OTHER  STORIES  FROM 

THE  BLACK  CAT 

By 
H.  D.  ^JMBSTAETTER 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 
JACK  LONDON 


L.  C.   PAGE  &  COMPANY 
BOSTON    4*     MDCCCCXI 


Copyright,  1895,  1896,  1900,  1904,  1909 
BY  THE  SHORTSTORY  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1911 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 

All  rights  reserved 


Firet  Impression,  July,  1911 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by 
THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co.,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


°c 


TO 


119 


Introduction 


It  is  indeed  a  pleasure  to  write  an  in 
troduction  for  a  collection  of  tales  by 
Mr.  H.  D.  Umbstaetter.  His  stories 
are  "  Black  Cat  "  stories,  and  by  such 
designation  is  meant  much.  The  field 
of  the  "  Black  Cat  "  is  unique,  and  a 
"  Black  Cat  "  story  is  a  story  apart 
from  all  other  short  stories.  While  Mr. 
Umbstaetter  may  not  have  originated 
such  a  type  of  story,  he  made  such  a 
type  possible,  and  made  many  a  writer 
possible.  I  know  he  made  me  possible. 
He  saved  my  literary  life,  if  he  did  not 
save  my  literal  life.  And  I  think  he 
was  guilty  of  this  second  crime,  too. 

For  months,  without  the  smallest 
particle  of  experience,  I  had  been  at 
tempting  to  write  something  market- 


Introduction 


able.  Everything  I  possessed  was  in 
pawn,  and  I  did  not  have  enough  to  eat. 
I  was  sick,  mentally  and  physically, 
from  lack  of  nourishment.  I  had  once 
read  in  a  Sunday  supplement  that  the 
minimum  rate  paid  by  the  magazines 
was  ten  dollars  per  thousand  words. 
But  during  all  the  months  devoted  to 
storming  the  magazine  field,  I  had  re 
ceived  back  only  manuscripts.  Still  I 
believed  implicitly  what  I  had  read  in 
the  Sunday  supplement. 

As  I  say,  I  was  at  the  end  of  my 
tether,  beaten  out,  starved,  ready  to  go 
back  to  coal-shoveling  or  ahead  to  sui 
cide.  Being  very  sick  in  mind  and 
body,  the  chance  was  in  favor  of  my 
self-destruction.  And  then,  one  morn 
ing,  I  received  a  short,  thin  letter  from 
a  magazine.  This  magazine  had  a  na 
tional  reputation.  It  had  been  founded 
by  Bret  Harte.  It  sold  for  twenty-five 
cents  a  copy.  It  held  a  four-thousand- 
vi 


Introduction 


word  story  of  mine,  "  To  the  Man  on 
Trail/'  I  was  modest.  As  I  tore  the 
envelope  across  the  end,  I  expected  to 
find  a  check  for  no  more  than  forty  dol 
lars.  Instead,  I  was  coldly  informed 
(by  the  Assistant  Sub-scissors,  I  imag 
ine),  that  my  story  was  "  available  " 
and  that  on  publication  I  would  be  paid 
for  it  the  sum  of  five  dollars. 

The  end  was  in  sight.  The  Sunday 
supplement  had  lied.  I  was  finished- 
finished  as  only  a  very  young,  very  sick, 
and  very  hungry  young  man  could  be. 
I  planned — I  was  too  miserable  to  plan 
anything  save  that  I  would  never  write 
again.  And  then,  that  same  day,  that 
very  afternoon,  the  mail  brought  a 
short,  thin  letter  from  Mr.  Umbstaetter 
of  the  "  Black  Cat."  He  told  me  that 
the  four-thousand-word  story  sub 
mitted  to  him  was  more  lengthy  than 
strengthy,  but  that  if  I  would  give  per 
mission  to  cut  it  in  half,  he  would  im- 
vii 


Introduction 


mediately  send  me  a  check  for  forty 
dollars. 

Give  permission!  It  was  equivalent 
to  twenty  dollars  per  thousand,  or 
double  the  minimum  rate.  Give  per 
mission!  I  told  Mr.  Umbstaetter  he 
could  cut  it  down  two-halves  if  he'd 
only  send  the  money  along.  He  did,  by 
return  mail.  And  that  is  just  precisely 
how  and  why  I  stayed  by  the  writing 
game.  Literally,  and  literarily,  I  was 
saved  by  the  "  Black  Cat  "  short  story. 

To  many  a  writer  with  a  national 
reputation,  the  "  Black  Cat  "  has  been 
the  stepping  stone.  The  marvelous, 
unthinkable  thing  Mr.  Umbstaetter 
did,  wras  to  judge  a  story  on  its  merits 
and  to  pay  for  it  on  its  merits.  Also, 
and  only  a  hungry  writer  can  appre 
ciate  it,  he  paid  immediately  on  accept 
ance. 

Of  the  stories  in  this  volume,  let  them 
speak  for  themselves.  They  are  true 
viii 


Introduction 


"  Black  Cat  "  stories.  Personally,  I 
care  far  more  for  men  than  for  the  best 
stories  ever  hatched.  Wherefore,  this 
introduction  has  been  devoted  to  Mr. 
Umbstaetter,  the  Man. 

JACK  LONDON. 
GLEN  ELLEN,  CALIFORNIA, 
March  25.  1911 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION v 

THE  RED  -  HOT  DOLLAR       ....  1 

THE  UNTURNED  TRUMP         ....  25 

THE  REAL  THING 39 

WHEN  THE  CUCKOO  CALLED        ...  67 

ONE  CHANCE  IN  A  MILLION        ...  87 

DOODLE'S  DISCOVERY 103 

KOOTCHIE f  119 

HER  EYES,  YOUR  HONOR     ....  129 
FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  TOODLEUMS    .       .       .149 

IN  HELL'S  CANON 165 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  THIRTY  MILLIONS.  177 

ASLEEP  AT  LONE  MOUNTAIN  203 


THE   RED-HOT   DOLLAR 


THE 
RED-HOT  DOLLAR 

IT  lacked  three  minutes  of  five  by 
the  big  clock  in  the  tower  when  the 
east-bound  Chicago  express  rum 
bled  into  the  station  at  Buffalo.  The 
train  had  not  yet  come  to  a  standstill 
when  a  hatless  man  jumped  from  the 
platform  of  the  rear  sleeping-car  and 
ran  across  the  tracks  into  the  depot 
restaurant.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
reappeared,  carrying  a  cup  of  coffee  in 
one  hand  and  a  small  paper  bag  in  the 
other. 

With  these  he  hurriedly  made  his 
way  back  to  the  car  through  a  strag 
gling   procession    of   drowsy   tourists, 
3 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


who  were  taking  advantage  of  the 
train's  five  minutes'  stop  to  breathe 
the  crisp  morning  air.  The  last  of 
these  had  already  resumed  his  seat 
when  the  man  without  a  hat  again  ap 
peared  at  the  lunch  counter,  returned 
the  borrowed  dishes,  and  ordered  cof 
fee  for  himself.  He  had  just  picked  up 
the  cup  and  was  raising  it  to  his  lips 
when  the  conductor's  "  All  aboard  ' 
rang  through  the  station. 

Leaving  the  coffee  untouched,  he 
thrust  a  five-dollar  bill  at  the  attend 
ant,  grabbed  his  change,  and  started 
in  pursuit  of  the  moving  train.  He  had 
almost  reached  it  when  an  unlucky 
stumble  sent  the  coins  in  his  hand  roll 
ing  in  all  directions  along  the  floor. 
Quickly  recovering  himself  and  paying 
no  heed  to  his  loss,  he  redoubled  his 
efforts,  and,  though  losing  ground  at 
every  step,  kept  up  the  hopeless  chase 
to  the  end  of  the  station.  There  he 
4 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


stopped,  panting  for  breath.  The  slip 
had  proved  fatal.  He  had  missed  the 
train! 

As  he  stood  staring  wildly  through 
the  clouds  of  dust  that  rose  from  the 
track,  a  young  woman,  evidently 
deeply  agitated,  suddenly  appeared  in 
the  doorway  of  the  vanishing  car. 
Upon  seeing  him,  she  made  frantic  at 
tempts  to  leap  from  the  platform,  when 
she  was  seized  by  a  man  and  pulled 
back  into  the  car.  When  the  door  had 
closed  upon  the  two  the  bareheaded 
man  in  the  station  faced  about  and 
philosophically  muttered:  — 

"  It's  fate!  " 

Then,  after  pausing  a  few  moments, 
as  if  to  collect  his  thoughts,  he  slowly 
retraced  his  steps  to  the  scene  of  his 
mishap  and  began  calmly  searching  for 
his  lost  change.  Circling  closely  about, 
his  eyes  scanning  the  floor,  he  suc 
ceeded  in  recovering  first  one  and  then 
5 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


another  of  the  missing  coins,  until 
finally,  after  repeated  rounds,  he  lacked 
only  one  dollar  of  the  whole  amount. 
At  this  point  he  paused,  clinked  the 
recovered  coins  in  his  hand,  looked 
at  his  watch,  and  then  started  on  a 
final  round.  As  this  failed  to  reveal 
the  missing  piece,  he  gave  up  the 
search,  transferred  the  contents  of  his 
hands  to  his  trousers'  pocket,  and 
started  in  the  direction  of  the  telegraph 
office. 

He  had  proceeded  perhaps  twenty 
paces  when  it  occurred  to  him  to  turn 
about  and  cast  one  more  look  along  the 
floor.  As  he  did  so  his  eye  fell  upon  a 
shining  object  lodged  in  an  opening 
between  the  rail  and  planked  floor,  a 
few  feet  from  where  he  stood.  He 
stooped  to  examine  it,  and,  seeing  that 
it  was  the  missing  coin,  reached  for  it, 
but  found  the  opening  too  narrow  to 
admit  his  fingers.  He  tried  to  recover 
6 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


the  piece  with  his  pocket-knife,  and, 
failing  in  this  attempt,  took  his  lead- 
pencil,  with  which,  after  repeated  at 
tempts,  he  succeeded  in  tossing  it  upon 
the  floor. 

With  an  air  of  subdued  satisfaction, 
he  walked  away,  and  was  about  to  con 
vey  the  coin  to  his  pocket  when  a  sud 
den  impulse  led  him  to  examine  it. 
Holding  it  up  before  his  eyes,  he 
stopped,  scrutinized  every  detail,  and 
as  he  turned  it  over  and  over  the  puz 
zled  look  on  his  face  changed  to  one 
of  rigid  astonishment.  For  fully  a 
minute  he  stood  as  if  transfixed;  then, 
rousing  himself  and  looking  anxiously 
about  as  if  to  see  if  any  one  had  ob 
served  him,  he  hurried  to  the  cashier's 
desk  in  the  restaurant,  and,  producing 
the  bright  silver  dollar,  asked  the  girl 
if  she  happened  to  remember  from 
whom  she  received  it. 

She  didn't  remember,  but  would  ex- 
7 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


change  it  for  another,  she  said,  if  he 
wished.  Politely  declining  the  offer 
and  apologizing  for  having  troubled 
her,  he  said  that,  as  the  coin  he  held  in 
his  hand  was  separating  a  loving  wife 
from  her  husband,  he  wished  very 
much  to  find  some  trace  of  its  former 
owner.  The  girl  looked  up,  thought  for 
a  moment,  then,  pulling  out  the  cash 
drawer,  and  examining  its  contents, 
said  she  might  have  received  it  from 
the  conductor  of  the  Lake  Shore  ex 
press  which  had  left  for  Cleveland  at 
3.15.  She  now  recalled  that  when  she 
came  on  duty  at  midnight  there  was 
no  silver  dollar  among  the  change 
in  the  cash  drawer,  and  that  the 
only  one  she  remembered  receiving 
was  from  Sleeping-Car  Conductor 
Parkins. 

The  man  thanked  her  and  hastened 
to  the  telegraph  office,  where  he  sent 
this  message :  — 

8 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


"  Conductor,  East  Bound  Chicago  Ex 
press,  Utica,  K  Y. 

"  Please  ask  lady  in  section  seven  of 
sleeping-car  Catawba  to  await  her  hus 
band  at  Delavan  House,  Albany. 

"  A.  J.  Hobart." 


After  requesting  the  operator  to 
kindly  rush  the  despatch,  he  proceeded 
to  the  ticket  office,  procured  a  seat  in 
the  5.45  fast  mail  for  Cleveland,  and, 
with  his  hand  clutching  the  coin  in  his 
pocket  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor, 
meditatively  paced  up  and  down  the 
platform,  waiting  for  the  train  to  ar 
rive. 

As  he  did  so  he  was  disconcerted  to 
find  himself  the  object  of  wide-spread 
curiosity;  even  the  newsboys  with  the 
morning  papers  favored  him  with  an 
inquiring  stare  as  they  passed.  Won 
dering  what  was  amiss,  he  suddenly  put 
his  hand  to  his  head,  which  furnished 
9 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


an  instant  explanation.  He  was  hat- 
less. 

Looking  at  the  big  clock,  he  saw  that 
it  lacked  ten  minutes  of  train  time,  and, 
hastily  crossing  over  to  the  farther 
track,  he  disappeared  through  the  west 
end  of  the  station. 

Among  the  passengers  who  boarded 
the  5.45  fast  mail  for  Cleveland  when 
it  thundered  into  the  station,  ten  min 
utes  later,  was  the  bareheaded  gentle 
man  of  a  few  minutes  ago,  now  wearing 
a  stylish  derby.  Once  in  the  train,  he 
settled  himself  in  his  seat  with  a  sigh 
of  relief  and  satisfaction.  Not  until 
then  did  the  really  remarkable  charac 
ter  of  the  situation  dawn  upon  him. 
On  the  very  day  which  he  had  hailed  as 
one  of  the  happiest  of  his  life  he  was 
traveling  at  the  rate  of  about  sixty 
miles  an  hour  away  from  the  girl  he 
loved  devotedly  and  to  whom  he  had 
been  married  just  seventeen  hours. 
10 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


A  queer  opening  of  his  honeymoon! 
In  his  anxiety  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee 
for  his  wife,  he  had  lost  his  hat,  then 
lost  his  change,  and,  lastly,  lost  the 
train. 

Why  did  he  not  follow  his  bride  at 
once?  What  mysterious  spell  had  come 
upon  this  seventeen-hour  bridegroom 
that  he  should  fly  from  her  as  swiftly 
as  the  fast  express  could  carry  him? 
His  hand  held  the  solution  of  the  prob 
lem  —  simple,  yet  unexplainable  —  a 
silver  dollar!  It  held  the  secret  he 
must  unravel  before  he  could  return  to 
her;  it  was  not  then  that  he  loved 
her  less,  but  that  this  bit  of  precious 
metal  had  suddenly  developed  an 
occult  power  that  had  turned  their 
paths,  for  the  present,  in  opposite  direc 
tions. 

At  the  first  stopping  place  he  sent 
another  message,  which  read  as  fol 
lows:  — 

ii 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


"  Mrs.  A.  J.  Hobart,  Delavan  House, 

Albany,  N.  Y. 

"  Cannot  possibly  reach  Albany  be 
fore  to-morrow  morning. 

"  Ansel." 

With  his  brain  filled  with  excited 
thoughts,  the  young  man  entered  the 
sleeping-car  office  at  Cleveland  four 
hours  later  and  asked  for  Conductor 
Parkins.  He  was  told  that  this  official 
would  not  be  on  duty  before  night, 
though  possibly  he  might  be  at  his 
home  on  St.  Clair  Street. 

To  the  address  given  him  the  indefat 
igable  young  man  repaired  at  once,  and 
found  the  genial  gentleman  for  whom 
he  sought  breakfasting  with  his  family. 
He  kindly  gave  audience  at  once  to  his 
visitor. 

"  This  coin,  which  you  gave  the 
cashier  of  the  restaurant  in  Buffalo," 
said  the  latter,  revealing  it  in  the  palm 

12 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


of  his  hand;  "  can  you  tell  me  from 
whom  you  received  it?  ' 

Parkins  remembered  receiving  cash 
from  but  two  passengers  the  night  be 
fore,  one  a  traveling  man  who  got  off 
in  Cleveland,  and  the  other  a  woman 
whose  destination  was  Erie.  The  stran 
ger  might  ascertain  their  names  by  con 
sulting  the  car  diagram  at  the  ticket 
office.  "  You  seem  interested  in  the 
coin,'7  he  added,  smiling. 

"  I  am,  for  a  good  reason/'  laughed 
the  young  man  in  reply.  "It  is  sep 
arating  a  man  from  his  wife."  And 
with  these  enigmatical  words  he  made 
his  adieu,  with  thanks,  hastened  to  the 
ticket  office,  and  an  hour  later  was 
scouring  the  city  for  one  Richard 
Spears. 

The  register  of  the  Stillman  House 

contained  the  freshly  written  name  of 

"Richard  Spears,  Providence,  R.  L," 

but  that  gentleman,  when  found  in  his 

13 


The  Red  -  Hot  Dollar 


room  showing  samples  of  hardware  to 
a  prospective  buyer,  regretted  that  he 
could  not  throw  any  light  on  the  par 
ticular  dollar  his  visitor  held  up  to  his 
gaze,  and  remembered  distinctly  that 
he  had  given  the  conductor  a  two-dollar 
bill  in  payment  for  his  berth.  He  came 
from  a  section,  he  said,  where  people 
took  no  stock  in  silver  dollars. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
when  a  man  got  off  the  train  at  Erie  and 
inquired  of  the  cabmen  and  depot  mas 
ter  regarding  a  lady  who  had  arrived 
on  the  early  train  from  Buffalo.  An 
hour  later  he  was  driving  along  a  coun 
try  road  some  miles  south  of  the  town 
inquiring  for  the  Wickliffe  farm. 

As  he  finally  drove  up  to  the  house 
which  was  his  destination  he  was  con 
scious  of  a  strange  excitement.  This, 
he  realized,  was  probably  his  only  re 
maining  chance  to  trace  the  coin  by 
whose  mysterious  power  he  had  been 
14 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


drawn  into  this  wild  chase  with  the 
hope  of  identifying  its  former  owner. 
He  took  a  hasty  note  of  the  general  fea 
tures  of  the  place.  It  had  a  comfort 
able,  well-to-do  look;  a  two-story  house, 
white,  with  green  blinds.  Most  of  these 
were  closed,  as  is  customary  with  coun 
try  houses,  but  the  windows  at  the  right 
of  the  big  front  door,  opening  on  a  small 
porch,  were  shaded  only  by  white  cur 
tains.  There  was  a  sound  of  voices 
within  as  he  stepped  up  to  the  door  and 
rapped. 

Mrs.  Wickliffe,  a  pleasant-faced  little 
woman,  sat  surrounded  by  three  chil 
dren  and  a  neighbor's  wife,  to  whom 
she  was  displaying  some  purchases.  As 
one  of  the  children  opened  the  door, 
admitting  the  stranger  into  this  ani 
mated  scene,  she  was  standing  before 
a  mirror  trying  on  a  new  bonnet,  which 
was  eliciting  extravagant  praises  from 
the  neighbor. 

15 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


After  listening  to  his  story,  Mrs. 
Wickliffe  said  that  her  memory  was  so 
treacherous  that  she  really  couldn't  say 
for  certain  whether  or  not  she  gave  the 
conductor  the  shining  dollar,  but  that  if 
she  did  she  must  have  received  it  from 
her  son  in  Germantown,  Pa.,  from  a 
visit  to  whose  house  she  had  just  re 
turned,  and  who  before  her  departure 
had  exchanged  some  money  for  her. 
She  added  that,  as  she  took  no  interest 
in  coin  collecting,  a  dollar  was  simply 
a  dollar  to  her  and  that  she  thought  a 
woman  was  very  foolish  to  take  up 
with  a  fad  which  might  ruin  her  hap 
piness. 

Her  unknown  caller  thought  so,  too, 
admired  her  taste  in  millinery,  took  the 
address  of  her  son,  and,  clutching  the 
fatal  coin  more  firmly  than  ever,  drove 
back  to  Erie,  where  he  boarded  the  New 
York  night  express. 

To  the  young  man  who  still  clutched 
16 


The  Red  -  Hot  Dollar 


the  silver  dollar  sleep  was  impossible. 
A  multitude  of  exciting  fancies  crossed 
Ms  brain.  The  developments  he  hoped 
to  bring  about,  the  curious  solution  of 
the  problem,  its  effect  upon  his  future, 
and  the  future  of  one  so  dear  to  him,  — 
all  this  murdered  sleep  for  him  as  ef 
fectually  as  did  the  crime  on  Lady  Mac 
beth  's  soul.  It  drove  him  into  the 
smoking-car,  where  he  sank  into  a 
seat  and  planned  and  conjectured  be 
tween  puffs  of  Havana  smoke  until 
the  train  reached  Albany.  So  com 
pletely  absorbed  had  he  become  in  the 
solution  of  this  knotty  problem  in  which 
his  accident  of  the  morning  had  in 
volved  him,  and  so  convinced  was  he 
that  the  information  must  be  for  the 
time  kept  a  secret,  that  he  actually  be 
gan  to  dread  what  was  clearly  inevi 
table,  —  the  explanation  he  must 
shortly  make  to  his  wife. 

His  inclination  was  to  tell  her  all. 


The  Red  -  Hot  Dollar 


His  duty  to  others  forbade  this.  After 
pondering  over  the  matter,  he  decided 
to  explain  that  he  had  a  happy  surprise 
in  store  for  her,  one  that  had  an  impor 
tant  bearing  on  their  future,  and  which 
unfortunately  necessitated  a  change 
in  their  plans  for  a  honeymoon  in  Eu 
rope. 

This,  on  reaching  the  Delavan  House, 
he  expressed  to  a  very  pretty  and  very 
anxious  little  woman  wrho  was  await 
ing  him,  together  with  a  good  many 
other  things  not  necessary  to  this  story. 
And,  instead  of  the  steamer  for  Europe, 
the  reunited  pair  took  a  train  for  Phila 
delphia.  Early  the  next  day  the  young 
man  presented  himself  at  the  office  of 
Dr.  James  Wickliffe,  at  Germantown, 
who  smilingly  admitted  having  given 
the  shining  dollar  to  his  mother  two 
days  before.  He  had  received  the  coin 
from  a  patient,  a  letter-carrier  named 
John  Lennon,  and  remembered  it  be- 
18 


The  Red-  Hot  Dollar 


cause  of  the  following  strange  story, 
related  to  him  by  Lennon  himself. 

A  few  days  before,  the  carrier  was 
engaged  in  delivering  mail  from  door 
to  door  along  Vine  Street,  Philadelphia, 
when  a  zigzag  trip  across  the  street  and 
back  again  brought  him  to  the  narrow 
stairway  of  a  dingy  brick  house,  in  front 
of  which  hung  an  enormous  brass  key 
bearing  the  word  "  Locksmith. "  Here 
he  paused  to  draw  a  little  parcel  from 
his  bundle.  As  he  did  so  he  heard  some 
thing  fall  with  a  metallic  clink  upon  the 
stone  pavement.  He  looked  and  saw 
that  it  was  a  silver  dollar,  which  rolled 
toward  the  gutter  and  came  to  a  stop 
close  by  the  curb.  Hastening  to  pick  it 
up,  he  instantly  dropped  it  with  a  cry 
of  pain. 

TJie  coin  was  almost  red  hot! 

The  letter-carrier  stood  nursing  his 
hand  and  thinking  for  two  or  three  min 
utes.  Silver  dollars  do  not  commonly 
19 


The  Red  -  Plot  Dollar 


drop  out  of  the  sky.  But  that  this  one 
should  thus  fall  like  a  meteorite  in  a 
condition  too  heated  for  handling  was 
certainly  more  than  surprising  —  it  was 
astounding!  The  man  looked  up  at  the 
dingy  brick  house  and  examined  it  at 
tentively,  noting  that  the  ground  floor 
was  occupied  as  a  green  grocery  and 
that  all  of  the  windows  were  shut  save 
one  in  the  third  story. 

Then  he  kicked  the  mysterious  coin 
into  a  puddle,  fished  it  out  again  with 
his  fingers,  and  put  it  into  his  trousers' 
pocket.  He  was  about  to  investigate 
further,  when  some  small  boys  called 
his  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  was  the 
first  day  of  April,  whereupon  he  pro 
ceeded  on  his  way.  He  gave  no  further 
thought  to  the  matter  until  that  night, 
when  he  found  that  his  thumb  and  fore 
finger  had  been  so  badly  burned  as  to 
require  treatment. 

The  next  morning  he  called  upon  the 
20 


The  Red  -  Hot  Dollar 


doctor,  who  dressed  the  painful  hand 
and  received  the  mysterious  coin  in  pay 
ment  for  his  services. 

That  night,  behind  locked  doors  in  one 
of  the  officers'  rooms  of  the  United 
States  Mint  in  Chestnut  Street,  two 
men  were  engaged  in  a  long  whispered 
conference.  The  wife  of  one  of  the  men, 
as  she  sat  in  her  room  in  the  Continental 
Hotel,  anxiously  waiting  for  her  hus 
band,  was  beginning  to  wonder  whether, 
after  all,  marriage  was  a  failure ! 

Two  days  later,  in  speaking  of  the 
seizure  of  over  forty  thousand  bogus 
silver  dollars  and  the  clever  capture  of 
three  of  the  most  dangerous  counter 
feiters  that  ever  attacked  the  currency 
of  the  United  States,  the  Daily  Neivs 
said:  — 

"  The  most  remarkable  part  of  the 
whole  story  is  that  one  of  the  coins, 
fresh  from  the  machine  of  one  of  the 
counterfeiters,  fell  out  of  a  third-story 

21 


The  Red  -  Hot  Dollar 


window  near  which  he  was  working, 
was  picked  up  while  almost  red  hot  by 
a  letter-carrier,  and  passed  as  genuine 
through  various  hands  until  it  reached 
Buffalo,  where,  by  the  merest  accident, 
it  came  into  the  possession  of  Mr.  Ansel 
Hobart  of  the  Secret  Service.  That 
gentleman  noticed  an  imperfection  at 
one  point  of  its  rim,  and  succeeded  in 
tracing  the  coin  to  the  headquarters  of 
the  gang  on  Vine  Street  in  this  city, 
where,  under  the  cloak  of  a  locksmith 
shop  and  green  grocery  business,  six 
hundred  of  the  spurious  coins  were 
turned  out  daily.  So  admirably  were 
these  counterfeits  executed  as  to  defy 
scrutiny  save  by  experts  of  the  Govern 
ment.  The  coins  were  not  cast  in  molds 
after  the  ordinary  fashion,  but  were 
struck  with  a  die,  and  plated  so  thickly 
with  silver  as  to  withstand  tests  by 
acids.  The  defect  which  led  to  the  dis 
covery  was  found  only  in  the  one  coin 
22 


The  Red -Hot  Dollar 


already  spoken  of,  and  it  is  supposed 
that  it  was  this  defect  that  caused  the 
piece  to  spring  from  the  finishing  ma 
chine  and  fall  out  of  the  window." 

And  the  New  York  newspapers  of 
three  days  later  contained  the  intelli 
gence  that  the  White  Star  steamer 
"  Majestic,"  which  sailed  for  Liverpool 
that  day,  had  among  her  passengers  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Ansel  J.  Hobart,  of  Chicago, 
Illinois. 


THE   UNTURNED   TRUMP 


The  Unturned  Trump 


THE     ferry-boat,     "  Rappahan- 
nock,"  had  an   experience  in 
the  winter  of  1873  that  will 
never  be  forgotten  by  any  of  her  pas 
sengers. 

During  one  of  her  regular  trips  be 
tween  New  York  and  Brooklyn  this 
boat  suddenly  quitted  her  respectable, 
though  somewhat  monotonous,  career, 
and  became  a  common  tramp,  without 
port  or  destination. 

The  day  awoke  in  fog  such  as  the 
oldest  inhabitant  had  never  seen.  The 
East  River  was  blocked  with  ice  and 
soon  became  a  shrieking  bedlam  of 
groping  and  bewildered  craft,  whose 
pilots  could  scarcely  see  their  hands 
before  their  faces. 

27 


The   Unturned  Trump 


At  half  past  nine  the  "  Rappahan- 
nock  "  left  Brooklyn,  well  laden  with 
passengers,  and  started  on  her  custom 
ary  trip  almost  directly  across  the 
river  —  a  very  short  and  usually  easy 
voyage.  Before  even  reaching  the 
middle  of  the  stream,  however,  the  ice 
and  fog  had  thrown  her  completely  out 
of  her  course.  Back  and  forth,  up  and 
down  stream,  the  pilot  vainly  groped, 
amid  the  shrieking  whistles,  ringing  of 
fog  bells,  and  loud  crash  of  ice  boul 
ders,  until,  in  the  confused  clangor,  he 
had  entirely  lost  his  bearings. 

When,  after  long  and  perilous  bat 
tling  with  ice  jams  and  many  hair 
breadth  escapes  from  collisions,  he  sud 
denly  sighted  the  landing  place  on  the 
New  York  side,  he  found  it  occupied  by 
a  sister  boat,  which  had  been  driven 
there  to  avoid  destruction.  He  backed 
out,  only  to  be  lost  again,  and  for  three 
hours  this  boat,  now  become  a  mere 
28 


The   Unturned  Trump 


tramp,  wandered  aimlessly  up  and 
down  the  East  River  with  its  load  of 
excited  passengers,  whose  emotions 
ranged  anywhere  between  the  rage  and 
impatience  of  the  belated  Wall  Street 
speculator,  to  whom  the  delay  might 
mean  a  loss  of  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
to  the  hysteria  of  a  nervous  little 
woman  who  had  left  her  baby  alone  at 
home,  and  who  begged  the  other  help 
less  passengers  for  the  love  of  Heaven 
to  help  her  set  her  feet  once  more  on 
land. 

Between  these  two  extremes  of  im 
patience  and  excitement  was  a  small 
proportion  of  passengers  who  re 
mained  calm,  even  endeavoring  to 
while  away  the  time  by  exchanging 
pleasantries  and  making  wagers  as  to 
the  time  of  their  deliverance.  Among 
these  was  a  group  of  men  in  the  cabin 
who,  after  having  read  and  re-read  the 
morning  papers,  were  casting  about  for 
29 


The  Unturned  Trump 


some    other   method    of   killing    time. 
One  suggested  a  game  of  cards. 

"  Cards!  "  laughed  one  of  his  com 
panions  in  misery.  "  Who'd  carry 
cards  on  a  ferry-boat?  Who,  out 
side  of  a  lunatic  asylum,  would 
start  on  a  ten  minutes'  voyage  pro 
vided  with  games  to  pass  away  the 
time?" 

"  Here  is  a  euchre  deck  which  is  at 
your  service." 

The  speaker,  evidently  a  globe-trot 
ter,  drew  from  under  the  bench  a  trav 
eling-bag,  so  much  worn  and  embel 
lished  by  tags,  labels,  and  hieroglyphics 
that  it  resembled  some  old  veteran 
just  returned  from  the  wars  and  still 
covered  with  surgeons'  plasters.  From 
this  he  produced  a  pack  of  cards  and 
tendered  it  to  the  man  who  had  sug 
gested  a  game. 

"  Certainly,  if  you  will  join  us;  but 
what  shall  we  do  for  a  table?  " 
30 


The   Unturned  Trump 


"  Here  is  a  camp-stool,"  said  the 
man  of  the  world.  And  in  a  moment 
four  men  were  sitting  around  it,  cut 
ting  for  deal,  which  chanced  to  fall  to 
the  stranger. 

The  cards  were  distributed  rapidly, 
and  the  dealer  was  about  to  turn  the 
trump  when  a  loud  shriek  pierced  the 
air  and  a  woman  opposite  suddenly 
sank  fainting  to  the  floor. 

The  tension  among  the  passengers 
had  become  so  great  that  a  panic 
seemed  imminent. 

'"  Don't  be  alarmed,  gentlemen;  it 
is  nothing  serious,"  said  the  dealer 
calmly.  "  The  lady  simply  caught 
sight  of  her  own  frightened  face  in  the 
mirror,  and  the  shock  caused  her  to 
faint.  It  reminds  me  of  a  thrilling  ex 
perience  an  American  traveler  had 
while  bumping  through  Syria.  But, 
pardon  me,  the  game!  " 

Once  more  he  made  a  movement  to 


The   Unturned  Trump 


turn  the  trump,  when  one  of  the  party 
exclaimed:  — 

"  There  can't  be  a  better  time  or 
place  than  this  for  telling  a  thrilling 
experience." 

"  Yes,"  said  another;  "  do  give  us 
some  other  kind  of  bumping  than  we 
are  having  here.  Let's  have  the  story 
before  we  begin  the  game." 

The  stranger  leaned  back,  passed  his 
cigar  case,  and,  having  lighted  one 
himself,  began:  — 

"It  is  an  unwritten  law  among  the 
wild  Bedouins  east  of  the  Red  Sea  that 
if  an  infidel  traveler  is  attended  on  his 
journey  by  one  of  the  faithful  he  is  safe 
from  the  attacks  of  Mohammedan  rob 
bers.  As  long  as  the  '  Frank/  as  all 
foreigners  are  called,  is  under  the  pro 
tection  of  the  Star  and  Crescent,  the 
rascal's  hand  is  stayed,  and  as  they 
meet,  the  villain,  who  would  otherwise 
show  no  quarter,  salutes  with  the  grave 
32 


The  Unturned  Trump 


suavity  of  a  courtier.  But  let  that 
same  traveler  become  separated  from 
the  Arab  guard  that  he  has  bribed  to 
give  him  safe  conduct  through  his  own 
bandit-infested  country,  and  he  be 
comes  legitimate  prey.  He  will  be 
plundered  and  perhaps  killed,  or, 
worse,  if  the  robber  thinks  that  cruelty 
will  extort  any  secrets  of  hidden  spoil, 
tortured  or  held  for  ransom,  with  each 
day's  delay  losing  a  few  fingers,  which 
are  forwarded  to  the  captive's  friends 
to  signify  that  the  rascals  mean  busi 
ness. 

"  The  party  in  which  this  American 
was  traveling  had  been  entering  Syria 
from  the  south,  and  were  progressed 
some  twelve  days  from  the  sacred  base 
of  old  Sinai.  At  a  place  called  Bir-es- 
Sheba,  on  the  regular  caravan  route  to 
and  from  Mecca  from  the  north,  they 
heard  of  some  interesting  archeological 
treasures  just  unearthed  some  two 
33 


The  Unturned  Trump 


days'  journey  to  the  east,  and,  having 
made  the  detour,  the  party  snugly  en 
camped  by  the  side  of  a  beautiful 
stream  under  the  shadow  of  the  Tubal 
chain  of  mountains. 

"  The  treasures  were  vastly  exag 
gerated,  as  is  the  custom  with  every 
thing  Oriental,  and  they  soon  deter 
mined  to  turn  back  to  the  caravan 
route  and  i  bump  ?  on  up  into  Syria  — 
'  bumping  '  being  the  familiar  term  for 
camel  riding,  and  a  very  expressive 
word  at  that.  But  on  the  afternoon  of 
the  first  resting-day  some  one  sug 
gested  a  jaunt  to  a  famous  old  well, 
where  it  was  said  were  some  very  an 
cient  tumuli.  But,  knowing  the  Bed 
ouins  to  be  conscientious  liars,  and  sick 
of  this  unrewarded  chase  for  phantom 
treasures,  the  American  begged  to  be 
left  behind  in  charge  of  two  tents, 
which  were  pitched  side  by  side  on  the 
bank  of  the  stream. 
34 


The  Unturned  Trump 


"  This  was  at  last  agreed  upon,  the 
whole  party  except  himself  going  off 
on  their  three  days'  trip,  leaving  their 
comrade  stretched  at  full  length  on  a 
rug,  his  narghili,  or  water  pipe,  lighted 
for  company. 

"  This  Oriental  atmosphere,  gentle 
men,  is  a  powerful  drug.  Do  what  you 
will  to  fight  against  it,  its  subtle  charm 
holds  you  captive.  The  man  suc 
cumbed  to  its  influences  and  went  fast 
asleep. 

"  Out  of  this  sweet,  trance-like  re 
pose  he  suddenly  bounded  into  the  hor 
rible  consciousness  of  a  torturing  pain 
in  one  of  his  hands,  as  though  some 
wild  beast  wTas  crunching  the  bones. 
But,  as  he  writhed  to  his  knees  to  grap 
ple  with  the  foe,  he  saw  instead  three 
swarthy,  evil-faced  Bedouins  bending 
over  him  with  ghoulish  glee.  One  had 
just  cut  off,  with  a  hideous  dirk-knife, 
the  first  three  fingers  of  his  left  hand. 
35 


The   Unturned  Trump 


In  an  instant  it  flashed  upon  him  that 
these  were  to  be  sent  to  his  friends  with 
a  demand  for  ransom.  He  was  correct 
in  this  supposition,  for  no  sooner  had 
the  bleeding  hand  been  rudely  ban 
daged  than  two  of  his  captors  set  out 
upon  this  mission,  leaving  him  in  care 
of  the  third,  who  was  heavily  armed. 

"  No  one  knew  better  than  the  pris 
oner  how  impossible  such  a  ransom 
would  be.  His  fellow-travelers  had 
brought  as  little  money  into  Syria  as 
would  meet  their  actual  necessities 
while  there.  He  therefore  began  to 
cast  desperately  about  in  his  mind  for 
a  loophole  of  escape  before  the  fellows 
should  return  with  these  unsatisfac 
tory  tidings,  which  would  result,  no 
doubt,  in  further  mutilations. 

"  As  his  gaze  swept  the  tent  for 
something  suggesting  a  plan  for  deliv 
erance,  he  saw  it  had  been  gutted  of 
everything  except  two  articles,  —  his 
36 


The   Unturned  Trump 


light  silk  coat,  which  hung  upon  the 
partition  between  the  two  tents,  and 
the  tourist's  shaving  mirror  which  it 
concealed.  The  coat  had  been  over 
looked  because  it  was  as  grimy  as  the 
tent  wall  itself. 

"  In  moments  like  this  one  grasps  at 
straws.  As  it  is  said  a  drowning  per 
son  reviews  his  past  experiences  per 
fectly  in  a  brief  moment,  so  to  this  man, 
facing  desperate  odds,  came  a  desper 
ate  suggestion. 

"  He  called  loudly  on  a  supposed  pro 
tector  in  the  adjoining  tent  to  come  to 
the  '  window,'  and  prove  to  his  captor 
that  he  was  under  protection  of  a  Mos 
lem.  As  he  spoke  he  slowly  drew  the 
coat  from  before  the  mirror  in  front  of 
which  the  sheik  was  standing. 

"  No  words  can  express  the  unutter 
able  consternation  pictured  upon  that 
blazing  face,  livid  with  fright  and  won 
der,  as  for  the  first  time  it  saw  its  own 
37 


The   Unturned  Trump 


awful  reflection,  not  knowing  it  was  its 
own.  One  instant  he  stood  stock-still, 
fascinated,  horrified,  overwhelmed ; 
then  collapsed,  just  as  that  lady  did 
but  a  moment  ago,  and  the  American 
quickly  possessed  himself  of  his  cap 
tor's  arms  and  was  master  of  the  situ 
ation. 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,"  concluded 
the  story  teller,  "  we  will  have  our 
game." 

As  he  spoke  he  again  reached  for 
ward  to  turn  the  trump.  There  was  a 
quickly  drawn  breath  of  horror  from 
those  who  observed  him,  for  the  first 
three  fingers  of  his  left  hand  were 
missing. 

Before  he  could  turn  the  card,  a  sav 
age  lurch  of  the  boat,  accompanied  by 
the  creaking  of  timbers,  announced  the 
arrival  of  the  "  Rappahannock  "  at  her 
New  York  slip  —  and  the  trump  was 
never  turned. 

38 


THE   REAL   THING 


39 


The  Real  Thing 


JUST  before  midnight  on  the  ninth 
day  of  December  in  the  year  1881, 
Malcolm  Joyce,  of  New  Haven, 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  real 
thing.  Prior  to  that  time  he  had  been 
a  sceptic.  At  the  time  of  his  startling 
experience,  he  was  in  San  Francisco, 
visiting  friends  whose  home  was 
charmingly  situated  near  the  summit 
of  Nob  Hill,  that  conspicuous  eminence 
on  California  Street,  once  the  scene  of 
"  sand-lot  "  riots,  and  famous  for  its 
palaces  of  millionaires. 

Joyce,  having  spent  the  evening  with 
his  host  at  a  theatre  party  and  an  hour 
at  whist,  had  glanced  over  a  packet  of 
London  papers,  smoked  a  cigar,  and 
turned  off  the  light  preparatory  to  go- 
41 


The  Real  Thing 


ing  to  bed.  He  stepped  to  the  large  bay 
window  of  his  chamber,  to  enjoy  for 
a  moment  the  impressive  panorama 
spread  below  him  in  the  sombre  si 
lence. 

There  before  him,  just  across  the 
bay,  whose  fantastically  scattered 
lights  of  red  and  green  serve  as  guiding 
stars  to  the  mariner  passing  through 
the  Golden  Gate,  lay  Oakland,  the 
beautiful  city  of  sunny  homes.  To  his 
left  loomed  up  with  awe-inspiring 
grandeur  through  the  dim  shadows  the 
palatial  residences  of  the  immediate 
vicinity,  each  dark  and  silent  in  its 
solitary  majesty.  To  the  right,  in  the 
very  shadow  of  this  manifestation  of 
Occidental  millions,  and  but  a  block 
distant,  lay  acres  of  dismal  roofs,  shel 
tering  never-ending  scenes  of  Oriental 
contrast  —  Chinatown  —  with  its  fifty 
thousand  souls,  its  underground  opium 
joints  and  gambling  hells,  its  temples 
42 


The  Real  Thing 


of  wealth  and  piety  and  dens  of  vice 
and  penury. 

As  Joyce  turned  from  the  contempla 
tion  of  the  strange  contrast  presented 
by  the  scene,  the  silence  of  which  was 
broken  only  by  the  ceaseless  buzz  of 
the  invisible  cables  in  the  street  below, 
he  was  startled  by  the  signal  gongs  of 
two  cable  cars  which  passed  each  other 
directly  in  front  of  the  house.  Almost 
unconsciously  he  returned  to  his  posi 
tion  at  the  window  and  paused  to  watch 
the  one  disappear  over  the  summit, 
while  the  other  as  speedily  descended 
the  long,  steep  hill,  so  steep  that  its 
pavement,  never  trodden  by  horses' 
hoofs,  is  grass-grown  in  the  crevices. 
He  stood  but  a  moment  and  then,  real 
izing  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  turned 
abruptly  to  go  to  bed.  As  he  did  so, 
his  eyes  swept  once  more  the  hilltop 
just  beyond. 

Horror!  Was  he  asleep?  Did  he 
43 


The  Real  Thing 


dream?  No.  From  the  tower  half-way 
down  the  hill  came  the  first  stroke  of 
midnight,  assuring  him  that  he  was 
awake.  With  an  icy  shudder,  chained 
to  the  spot,  he  continued  to  gaze  at  a 
ghastly  spectacle,  clearly  outlined  upon 
the  gloomy  background  by  the  light  of 
the  street  lamp  a  block  above. 

He  saw  it  moving  —  a  human  skele 
ton  with  uplifted  arm  and  flowing 
shroud,  all  ghastly  white,  all  too  real 
to  be  mistaken,  from  the  gleaming  skull 
to  the  fluttering  robe.  He  saw  it  ap 
proaching  nearer  and  nearer  —  gliding 
swiftly  and  noiselessly  through  the  air, 
above  the  middle  of  the  street.  He 
tried  to  move,  but  could  not,  —  his  eyes 
refused  to  leave  the  hideous  sight.  He 
saw  it  coming,  closer  and  closer.  It 
would  pass  below  him,  not  a  hundred 
feet  away. 

Determined  that  will  and  courage 
should  conquer  doubt  and  fear,  sum- 
44 


The  Real  Thing 


monmg  all  his  strength  of  nerve,  he 
pressed  closer  to  the  window,  so  close 
that  his  face  fairly  touched  the  glass  — 
and  he  saw  a  human  skeleton  soaring 
through  the  air. 

Now,  Malcolm  Joyce  was  not  easily 
frightened.  No  one  had  ever  accused 
him  of  cowardice,  and  they  who  knew 
him  readily  believed  his  statement  that 
he  enjoyed  solitude.  Yet,  as  he  stood 
there  in  the  darkness,  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  vanishing  figure,  he  felt  some 
how  that  he  should  welcome  company, 
particularly  the  company  of  another 
not  easily  frightened.  So  strong  was 
this  impression  of  the  occasional  disad 
vantage  of  solitude  that  without  delay 
he  relighted  the  gas  and  stepped  before 
the  mirror.  The  deathly  pallor  and 
agitation  that  confronted  him  was  be 
wildering. 

As  he  tried  to  calm  himself  and 
change  the  current  of  his  thoughts  he 
45 


The  Real  Thing 


recalled  the  "  spook  test  "  of  an  old 
hunter  whom  he  had  met  in  New  South 
Wales. 

This  test  consisted  in  asking  oneself 
three  questions:  "  Are  you  awake,  are 
you  sober,  are  you  sane?  '  By  the  time 
these  queries  are  propounded  and  an 
swered,  the  ghost  on  trial  will  have 
proved  itself  an  illusion. 

Without  hesitation  Joyce  answered 
the  first  two  questions  —  he  was  un 
questionably  awake  and  sober.  But 
was  he  in  his  right  mind?  He  picked 
up  a  paper  and  read  for  a  moment,  but 
failed  to  grasp  a  single  idea!  He 
turned  the  page.  He  could  read,  but 
he  could  not  understand!  He  jumped 
up,  dazed,  frightened,  trembling,  per 
spiring.  Was  his  mind  giving  way 
under  the  strain  it  had  undergone? 
Once  more  he  looked  at  the  first  page 
of  the  paper  before  him.  It  was  "  Lon 
don  Punch  "!  He  was  sane! 
46 


The  Real  Thing 


Hardly  had  he  satisfied  himself  of 
the  success  of  his  test,  when  the  famil 
iar  signals  of  two  passing  cars  again 
sounded  in  his  ears.  With  the  air  of 
a  man  convinced  that  the  cause  of  fear 
and  suffering  has  been  groundless,  he 
lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  stepped  briskly 
to  the  window,  and,  puffing  slowly  and 
regularly,  calmly  watched  the  course 
of  the  diverging  cars.  As  the  distance 
between  them  increased,  he  followed 
the  one  going  down-hill  until  it  had 
reached  a  point  nearly  two  blocks  dis 
tant,  and  then  turned  his  attention  to 
the  summit  over  which  the  other  had 
already  disappeared. 

As  he  sharply  watched  the  critical 
spot  his  anxiety  decreased  as,  after 
some  moments,  no  signs  of  the  un 
earthly  sight  appeared. 

Of  course,  he  reasoned,  while  the  ob 
ject  he  had  beheld  some  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  before  might  never  appear 
47 


The  Real  Thing 


again,  it  still  might  have  been  a  ghost. 
A  sensation  akin  to  doubt  stole  over 
him. 

But,  whether  or  not  his  eyes  had, 
after  all,  played  him  a  trick,  he  was 
now  ready  to  go  to  bed. 

He  drew  down  the  shade  of  the  win 
dow  to  his  left  and  had  grasped  the 
cord  of  the  one  directly  before  him, 
when  his  arm  fell  to  his  side  as  if  par 
alyzed.  With  a  loud  whirr  the  sud 
denly  released  shade  rushed  upward, 
and  there,  not  thirty  yards  in  front  of 
and  below  him,  he  beheld  the  shocking 
spectre  gliding  up-hill. 

He  stood  in  rigid  horror,  held  by  the 
grim  monstrosity. 

Inclining  slightly  forward  as  it 
soared  past,  with  bony  arm  upstretched 
to  heaven,  its  bleached  death's  head 
bare  and  shining,  the  snowy  drapery 
enshrouding  its  skeleton  form  in  a  si 
lent  flutter,  it  presented  to  Joyce's 
48 


The  Real  Thing 


view  the  most  horribly  revolting  and 
yet  fascinating  spectacle  he  had  ever 
beheld,  and  one  that  he  never  forgot. 
In  the  face  of  this  further  proof  all  his 
doubts  vanished,  and  he  felt  absolutely 
certain  that  he  had  seen  what  is  here 
described. 

But,  even  before  the  frightful  object 
had  finally  passed  from  his  view,  he 
experienced  one  of  those  sudden  revul 
sions  of  feeling  by  which  fear  becomes 
courage,  and  anxiety  is  followed  by 
mental  calm,  and  thus  reconciled  to  a 
new  belief,  he  went  to  bed. 

When  he  awoke  on  the  following 
morning,  he  decided  to  say  nothing  to 
any  one  of  his  strange  experience  until 
he  had  taken  counsel  with  an  intimate 
bachelor  friend,  a  lawyer.  He  felt  re 
lieved,  therefore,  to  find  the  breakfast 
chat  confined  to  topics  entirely  foreign 
to  the  spirit  world.  Evidently  none 
of  the  family  had  been  disturbed  by 
49 


The  Real  Thing 


ghostly  visions.  As  he  looked  across 
the  table  into  the  eyes  of  a  bewitching 
girl,  he  almost  shuddered  at  the  fleeting 
thought  that  the  gruesome  nocturnal 
sight  he  had  seen  might  have  been  a 
warning  —  an  omen  of  some  dread  ca 
lamity  that  might  dash  forever  the 
hope  he  entertained  with  regard  to  her. 
It  was  to  see  her  again  —  to  be  at  her 
side  and,  if  possible,  to  woo  her  for  his 
own  —  that  he  was  in  San  Francisco. 

Two  years  previous  they  had  first 
met,  on  the  opposite  coast  of  the  con 
tinent.  While  ranging  in  the  Maine 
woods,  Joyce  had  climbed  Mount  Royce 
and  Speckle  Mountain  and  visited  the 
tourmaline  mines,  and  on  one  of  his 
woodland  tramps  had  come  across  a 
college  student  with  one  foot  inextri 
cably  caught  in  a  bear  trap.  Fortu 
nately,  a  legging  buckle  and  a  stout 
branch  of  undergrowth,  caught  at  the 
same  time,  had  prevented  the  terrible 
50 


The  Real  Thing 


teeth  of  the  trap  from  crushing  the 
bone,  and  the  young  fellow,  a  brother 
of  Joyce's  future  idol,  was  promptly 
released,  nearly  exhausted  from  the 
shock  of  his  adventure  and  the  fatigue 
of  his  fruitless  struggles  to  escape. 

The  gratitude  of  the  rescued  youth 
and  his  parents  resulted  in  an  invita 
tion  to  Joyce  to  visit  the  family,  which 
he  accepted  with  much  alacrity,  after 
having  seen  the  pretty  daughter  of  the 
house. 

Ten  o'clock  found  Malcolm  Joyce  at 
the  office  of  his  friend,  the  lawyer.  He 
had  expected  Lucien  Nelson  to  be  scep 
tical  and  full  of  good-natured  pleas 
antry  and  was  therefore  prepared  for 
the  reception  accorded  his  unusual  tale. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  his  friend's  in 
timation  that  he  had  seen  the  ghost 
while  under  spiritual  influence,  re 
jected  a  proposition  for  a  writ  of  eject 
ment  to  be  served  upon  it,  and  finally 


The  Real  Thing 


aroused  Nelson's  interest  and  secured 
the  promise  of  his  co-operation  in 
an  armed  attempt,  to  be  made  that 
night,  to  investigate  the  ghastly  mys 
tery. 

Accordingly,  twelve  hours  later,  the 
two  young  men,  each  with  a  revolver, 
were  snugly  ensconced  in  a  dark  cor 
ner  of  the  bay  window  of  Joyce's  cham 
ber  on  Nob  Hill.  For  .two  hours  Mal 
colm  was  obliged  to  endure  all  the 
thinly  veiled  ridicule,  biting  sarcasm 
and  ironical  humor  that  a  friend  alone 
dare  utter,  so  that  when  he  at  length 
turned  up  the  light  for  a  moment  to 
make  sure  of  the  time,  he  was  glad  to 
find  that  a  few  moments  more  would 
bring  the  hour  of  midnight  —  the  tra 
ditional  time  for  ghostly  visitations. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  the  cable 

cars  that  passed  each  other  on  the  hill 

at  twelve  served  as  a  signal  for  another 

outbreak  of  raillery  on  the  part  of  Nel- 

52 


The  Real  Thing 


son,  but  Joyce,  in  no  mood  for  further 
banter,  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  progress 
of  the  cars,  searching  the  steep  incline 
for  the  unearthly  object  which  he 
hoped,  yet  dreaded,  to  behold.  The 
downward  car  had  not  yet  passed  the 
cross-walk  three  blocks  below,  when, 
with  a  feeling  of  awe  which  he  could 
not  have  described,  mingled  with  a  sort 
of  lively  satisfaction,  he  saw  again  the 
animated  skeleton  flash  before  his  eyes. 
Emerging,  apparently,  from  the  very 
earth,  in  the  rear  and  a  little  to  the  left 
of  the  departing  car,  it  rose  until  its 
full  length  stood  suspended  in  the  air. 
Then,  after  a  slight,  wavering  pause, 
it  came  gliding  up  the  hill. 

His  experience  of  the  previous  night 
thus  confirmed,  he  was  able  to  control 
his  voice  and  nerves  as  he  said,  coolly, 
to  his  companion,  while  dreading  what 
the  reply  might  be : 

"  Nelson,  here's  a  friend  of  yours 
53 


The  Real  Thing 


coming  up  street;   better  step  out  and 
speak  to  him." 

To  his  immense  relief,  the  trembling 
voice  of  his  friend  exclaimed  at  his 
ear: 

"  Great  God!    A  ghost  for  sure!  " 

Nelson's  horrified  tone  and  percepti 
ble  shudder  left  no  doubt  of  his  state 
of  mind,  and  it  was  with  much  satis 
faction  that  Joyce  seized  the  opportu 
nity  to  turn  several  of  the  lawyer's 
gibes  against  him. 

Ignoring  these  sarcasms,  Nelson  ex 
claimed  again,  emphatically: 

"  That  was  a  ghost,  as  sure  as  I  live 

-  and  I  should  like  to  see  more  of 
him." 

"  He'll  very  likely  be  back  in  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes,  same  as  last  night." 

"  Well,  then,  let's  tackle  him,  on  his 
way  down." 

They  shook  hands,  and  neither  spoke 
again  until  they  had  reached  the  side- 
54 


The  Real  Thing 


walk,  where,  three  blocks  farther  down, 
they  concealed  themselves  in  the  deep 
shadows  of  a  spacious  doorway  and 
awaited  the  expected  return  of  the  mid 
night  visitant. 

No  one  who  has  not  had  a  similar 
experience  can  fully  comprehend  the 
thrill  of  suspense  at  such  a  time.  He 
may  have  sought  a  human  foe,  in  the 
open  or  in  ambush,  have  stood  guard 
at  a  solitary  camp  fire  in  the  silent 
night,  or  passed  a  weary  vigil  in  the 
jungle,  prepared  to  meet  any  form  of 
savage  beast,  but  he  is  still  a  stranger 
to  the  sensation  that  comes  to  him  who, 
in  firm  belief,  awaits  the  coming  of  a 
midnight  ghost. 

As  the  passage  of  the  cable  cars  on 
their  trip  next  after  midnight  had  her 
alded  the  return  of  the  spectre  on  the 
previous  night,  Joyce  warned  his  friend 
to  be  prepared  for  that  event. 

"  After  the  car  has  gone  and  the 
55 


The  Real  Thing 


coast  is  clear  and  quiet,  go  for  it,"  he 
commanded. 

"  You  bet!  "  was  the  answer,  "  and 
don't  forget  to  be  quick  on  the  trig- 
ger." 

At  that  instant  a  sharp  tapping  on 
a  window,  apparently  a  block  above 
them,  met  their  ears,  and  at  the  same 
time  they  saw  the  downward  car 
mounting  the  hillside.  As  it  ap 
proached,  the  noise  increased  to  a  loud 
rattle  and  then  suddenly  stopped.  The 
car  had  no  sooner  passed  and  the  hill 
become  bare  than  the  ghost  appeared 
at  the  summit,  gliding  swiftly  in  mid 
air,  as  on  the  previous  occasions. 

"  There  he  comes!  "  the  watchers  ex 
claimed  together,  in  excited  whispers. 
"  Remember  now,"  whispered  Nelson, 
"  the  moment  he  gets  close  enough 
we'll  rush  out,  and  when  I  say, '  Shoot!  ' 
you  pump  lead  into  that  snowy  skull, 
while  I  ladle  some  pellets  between  his 
56 


The  Real  Thing 


ribs.  Let  him  have  it  six  times  in  suc 
cession.  And  don't  forget,  it's  got  to 
be  all  accidental,  —  we  were  frenzied 
with  fear  and  shot  in  self-defence. 
Don't  forget  that,  for  we  may  have  to 
swear  to  it." 

By  this  time  the  skeleton  was  flying 
toward  the  block  in  which  they  were 
concealed. 

"  Now,  then,  rush  for  the  middle  of 
the  street!  " 

They  rushed,  experiencing  an  awful 
moment,  but  when  still  within  some 
feet  of  the  apparition,  a  dark  figure, 
armed  with  a  long  club,  darted  sud 
denly  from  a  doorway  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street,  and  in  another  mo 
ment  the  spectre  lay  prostrate  on  the 
ground.  Before  the  ghost  hunters  fully 
realized  what  had  happened,  they 
stood,  breathless,  behind  the  newcomer, 
as  he,  unconscious  of  their  presence, 
stooped  over  his  fallen  quarry. 
57 


The  Real  Thing 


"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  sternly 
demanded  Nelson,  grasping  the  ghost- 
destroyer  by  the  arm.  Starting  at  the 
touch,  the  latter  sprang  forward  in  a 
frantic  attempt  to  escape,  but  finding 
himself  hopelessly  detained,  he  stood 
staring  wildly  at  his  captors.  "  Speak. 
What  are  you  doing  here?  "  repeated 
the  lawyer. 

"  Him  not  my  glost,"  was  the  meek 
reply,  in  the  trembling  tones  of  a  fright 
ened  Chinaman. 

"  Oh,  very  well.  Pick  him  up  and 
come  with  us;  you  are  our  prisoner." 

Without  further  words,  the  terrified 
Chinaman,  carrying  his  prize,  was 
placed  between  his  captors  and 
marched  quickly  to  Kearney  Street, 
near  by,  where,  behind  locked  doors, 
the  two  friends  proceeded  to  investi 
gate  an  affair  that  had  excited  and 
agitated  them  as  nothing  had  ever  done 
before. 

58 


The  Real  Thing 


Prostrate  upon  the  floor,  flat  and 
motionless,  their  previously  formidable 
foe  was  no  longer  impressive.  True, 
the  skull  and  skeleton  arm,  chalked  to 
a  ghastly  whiteness,  were  still  suggest 
ive  of  horror,  but  when  the  drapery  was 
lifted  the  anatomy  disclosed  was  of 
such  ludicrous  simplicity  and  harmless- 
ness  that  the  astonishment  of  the  in 
quisitors  brought  a  faint  smile  even  to 
the  pale  yellow  face  of  the  frightened 
heathen. 

Briefly  described,  the  plan  and  speci 
fications  of  the  ghost  were  as  follows: 
A  human  skull  was  securely  attached  to 
one  end  of  a  piece  of  inch  gas  pipe 
twelve  feet  long.  The  other  end  of  the 
pipe  was  flattened  out,  to  permit  its 
passing  readily  through  the  grip  slot 
of  the  cable  road,  and  was  provided 
with  a  pair  of  self -acting  spring  nip 
pers,  ingeniously  constructed  of  nickel, 
and  so  affixed  as  to  act  in  the  capacity 
59 


The  Real  Thing 


of  a  grip.  Front  and  rear  guards  held 
the  structure  upright.  Just  below  the 
skull  the  pipe  passed  through  a  strip 
of  board,  two  feet  long  by  three  inches 
wide,  which  served  as  shoulders.  Over 
this  the  white  shroud,  which  fell  to 
within  two  feet  of  the  ground,  was 
loosely  draped,  while  to  one  end  of  the 
strip  the  skeleton  arm  was  fastened. 
Lower  down,  at  right  angles  with  the 
first,  was  a  second  board,  with  rounded 
ends,  which  served  to  give  the  drapery 
a  natural  spread,  as  well  as  to  prevent 
a  fracture  of  the  skull  when  the  figure 
was  suddenly  felled  by  its  operators,  as 
the  two  friends  had  seen  it. 

"  John/'  said  Joyce,  after  the  ex 
amination  had  been  made,  "  look  at 
these  two  revolvers,  and  then  tell 
us  what  you've  got  to  say  for  your 
self." 

"  Him  not  my  glost,"  repeated  the 
Chinaman,  sullenly. 
60 


The  Real  Thing 


•'  Whose  is  it,  then?' 

"  Him  Wun  Lung  glost." 

"  Who  is  Wun  Lung,  and  where  does 
he  live?  " 

"  Him  no  livee  —  him  dead." 

"  Oh!  So  this  is  his  ghost.  Why  did 
you  knock  it  down?  " 

"  Wun  Lung  say,  *  go  catchee 
glost.'  " 

"  Here!  "  interrupted  Nelson,  "  you 
just  said  Wun  Lung  was  dead." 

Joyce  waved  his  hand  with  some  im 
patience.  "  What's  your  name?  "  he 
continued. 

"  My  name  Sing  Lo  —  me  velly  good 
cook  —  me  —  " 

"  Hold  on,  Lo.  Nelson,  I'll  match 
you  pennies  to  see  which  of  us  is  to  give 
Sing  Lo  a  dollar  to  tell  us  the  whole 
story  about  the  ghost." 

"  I'll  go  you,"  grumbled  the  lawyer, 
"  but  it  isn't  good  law." 

"  Here  you  are,  Sing  Lo.  Here's 
61 


The  Real  Thing 


your  dollar  —  now  tell  us  everything, 
and  we'll  let  you  go." 

66  You  givee  me  back  Wun  Lung 
glost?  " 

"  Yes  —  go  ahead." 

This  assurance,  with  the  sight  of 
the  broad  coin  and  the  disappear 
ance  of  the  pistols,  worked  wonders 
with  the  hitherto  quaking  and  evasive 
laundryman,  and  in  his  best  English 
and  most  straightforward  manner  — 
circumlocutory  as  it  was  —  he  related 
the  particulars  of  an  interesting 
tale. 

It  appeared  that  Wun  Lung  —  whose 
mortal  remains  the  ingenious  contri 
vance  captured  had  been  meant  to  sim 
ulate  —  had  been  the  proprietor  of  a 
laundry  on  Dupont  Street,  a  profitable 
spot,  the  site  of  which  appealed  to 
Michael  O'Brien,  a  local  politician,  as 
very  desirable  for  the  location  of  a  sa 
loon,  but  his  offer  to  purchase  was  de- 
62 


The  Real  Thing 


clined  and  his  threats  disregarded.  The 
disappointed  Irishman  therefore  pro 
ceeded  to  extreme  measures,  broke  up 
the  laundry  and  shot  the  owner,  who 
was  Sing  Lo's  employer,  but  was 
promptly  released  with  a  five-dollar 
fine  by  a  compatriot  on  the  bench,  on 
the  ground  of  self-defence.  When 
O'Brien  established  his  residence  and 
saloon  on  the  dead  Chinaman's  prem 
ises,  a  junior  Wun  Lung  conceived  the 
ingenious  idea  of  frightening  the  mur 
derer  away  with  the  "  ghost  "  of  his 
victim.  The  ghastly  dummy  was  con 
structed  and  sent  flying  up  and  down 
the  hill  at  midnight,  being  attached  to 
and  removed  from  the  cable  by  Sing  Lo 
and  his  fellow-laundryman,  Ah  Wing, 
while  Wun  Lung  himself  roused  the 
saloon  keeper  from  drunken  slumber 
by  a  sharp  tapping  on  his  window  by 
means  of  a  "  tick-tack,"  as  boys  call 
an  ingenious  combination  of  string,  pin, 
63 


The  Real  Thing 


and  nail.  The  appeal  to  the  fears  of 
O'Brien  and  the  identity  of  the  spec 
tre  were  emphasized  by  the  solitary 
bleached  hand  of  the  apparition,  the 
departed  Wun  having  had  but  a  sin 
gle  arm  during  the  latter  years  of  his 
life. 

"  Why  did  your  friend  make  this 
contrivance  of  nickel?  "  asked  Nelson, 
with  the  instinctive  inquisitiveness  of 
his  legal  training. 

Sing  Lo  grinned  as  he  replied: 

"  Wun  Lung  say,  '  Put-um  nickel  in 
slot,  Ilishman  see-um  glost.' 

With  an  additional  dollar,  designated 
by  Nelson  as  "  witness  fees,"  and  with 
his  late  employer's  ghost  under  his 
arm,  the  Chinaman  was  released  and 
drifted  out  into  the  darkness  of  China 
town. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Joyce  was  on  his 
way  to  the  home  of  his  friends.  He 
paused  a  moment  at  Dupont  Street,  and 
64 


The  Real  Thing 


there,  near  the  corner,  read  the  follow 
ing  sign: 


MICHAEL   O'BRIEN 

CHOICE  WINES  AND  LIQUORS 


Some  few  months  afterwards,  on  re 
turning  from  his  honeymoon,  which 
was  passed  among  the  grand  scenery 
of  Washington  and  Oregon,  he  found 
himself  again  near  the  corner  of  Du- 
pont  Street,  with  his  bride.  With  a 
start  of  remembrance  and  recognition, 
he  looked  up.  The  imposing  black  and 
gold  of  the  liquor  sign  had  disappeared, 
and  in  its  place,  in  gold  and  red,  a 
smaller  board  bore  the  significant  in 
scription: 


WUN  LUNG 

CHINESE    LAUNDRY 


The  Real  Thing 


It  was  evident  to  Malcolm  Joyce  that 
on  the  night  of  his  memorable  adven 
ture  Mr.  Michael  O'Brien  had  taken 
the  bony  semblance  of  his  Celestial  vic 
tim  for  The  Real  Thing. 


66 


WHEN   THE   CUCKOO   CALLED 


67 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

THE  announcement  that  London 
music  hall  audiences  are  losing 
their  heads  and  hearts  over 
"  The  Girl  with  the  Guitar  "  causes 
Mr.  Seymour  Gaston  to  smile  as  he 
looks  down  upon  the  world  from  his 
offices  on  the  nineteenth  floor  of  a  New 
York  sky-scraper.  Mr.  Gaston  is  an 
ingenious,  much  traveled  young  bach 
elor  with  a  history  and  a  fortune.  He 
recently  invented  a  folding  fire-escape, 
which  also  has  a  history  and  in  which 
another  fortune  is  said  to  await  him. 
And  "  The  Girl  with  the  Guitar  "  is 
one  of  the  two  Zillerthaler  sisters, 
whose  permanent  address  is  unknown 
and  who  receive  two  hundred  guineas 
a  night  for  presenting  their  Tyrolean 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

second-sight  seance.  To  such  an  extent 
do  these  mysterious  maidens  from  the 
mountains  hypnotize  the  public  that 
they  appear  nightly  at  four  different 
music  halls.  At  the  Alhambra  they 
open  the  performance  at  eight  o'clock, 
after  which  they  are  rushed  by  their 
manager  in  an  automobile  to  the  stage 
door  of  the  second  music  hall,  where 
they  appear  at  eight  forty-five,  and  so 
on,  winding  up  at  the  Aquarium  at  a 
few  minutes  before  ten  with  a  thousand 
dollars  in  their  pockets  for  the  eve 
ning's  work. 

When  the  curtain  rises  upon  their 
ten-minute  act  it  discloses  a  typical 
Tyrolean  scene  —  dim  mountains  in  the 
background,  a  sombre  pine  forest,  a 
toylike,  gabled  cottage  in  the  distance. 
The  lights  are  low  and  the  stage  is 
empty.  The  orchestra  begins  almost 
inaudibly  a  simple  melody  in  the  minor 
key.  Presently  a  rich  voice,  that  raises 
70 


When  the  Cuckoo  Called 

doubt  in  the  mind  of  the  listener  as  to 
whether  it  is  male  or  female,  joins  in. 
It  is  a  song  of  love,  a  serenade.  The 
lights  grow  dimmer.  A  new  sound 
steals  into  the  concerted  music  of  voice 
and  instruments;  there  are  strange, 
bizarre  chords  and  rippling  arpeggios, 
and  then  the  music  is  drowned  in  the 
burst  of  wild  applause  that  greets  the 
appearance  of  "  The  Girl  with  the  Gui 
tar."  She  bows  modestly,  the  lights 
go  up,  the  rich  voice  is  heard  again  in 
a  joyous  yodel,  and  the  sister,  too,  ap 
pears,  dressed  in  the  picturesque  attire 
of  an  Alpine  hunter.  This  artistically 
conceived  prologue  brings  the  audience 
into  closer  sympathy  with  what  fol 
lows.  "  The  Girl  with  the  Guitar," 
unheeding  the  applause  and  the  demon 
strations  of  the  male  portion  of  the 
audience,  seats  herself  at  the  extreme 
rirfit  of  tho  stage  near  fho  footlights. 
The  sister  is  led  by  the  manager  along 


When  the  Cuckoo   Galled 

a  narrow  platform  projecting  into  the 
centre  of  the  hall,  where,  after  being 
blindfolded,  she  seats  herself  with  her 
back  to  the  stage,  and  the  real  per 
formance  begins,  to  the  muted  music  of 
the  orchestra  and  the  sad,  fantastic 
chords  of  the  guitar.  The  second-sight 
seance  progresses  in  the  time-honored 
way,  except  that  no  word  is  spoken 
save  by  the  blindfolded  sister,  who  ac 
curately  names  and  describes,  in  a 
clear,  musical  voice,  each  article  as  it 
is  borrowed  from  the  audience  and  held 
up  in  silence  before  the  footlights  by 
the  manager,  some  thirty  feet  behind 
her  back.  "  A  gold  watch  with  a  pic 
ture  of  a  lady  on  its  face  ";  "  a  pair  of 
pearl  opera  glasses  ";  "a  half-crown 
piece  with  a  hole  in  it  ";  and  so  on,  the 
blindfolded  girl  describes  the  exhibits 
as  though  they  were  held  out  before  her 
naked  eyes.  She  never  falters,  never 
misses,  and  the  puzzled  look  that  conies 
72 


When  the  Cuckoo  Called 

to  every  face  shows  how  completely  she 
has  mastered  her  art.  But  it  is  the 
strange,  brilliant  beauty  and  the  fan 
tastic  music  of  "  The  Girl  with  the  Gui 
tar,"  who,  seemingly  unconscious  of 
her  surroundings,  gazes  idly  across  the 
stage,  that  hold  the  breathless  atten 
tion  of  the  audience.  Music  like  hers 
has  never  before  been  heard  from  any 
instrument.  It  is  absolutely  unique; 
a  new  scale  and  new  system  of  har 
monics  seem  to  have  been  discovered  by 
this  sombre-eyed  girl.  It  is  her  weird, 
haunting  melodies  that  trouble  the 
mind  with  strange  thoughts,  and  the 
impression  of  mystical,  occult  powers 
at  work,  produced  by  the  performance, 
is  really  traceable  to  this  music  and  the 
mysterious  personality  of  the  girl 
which  pervades  and  dominates  it  all. 

All  this  vividly  recalls  to  Mr.  Gaston 
a  ten-minute  drama  of  life  in  which  he 
once  played  a  part,  and  which  illus- 
73 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

trates  how  a  man  can  regain  his  lost 
peace  of  mind  by  being  suddenly 
brought  to  the  brink  of  eternity. 

Four  years  ago,  while  he  was  man 
aging  the  affairs  of  a  large  American 
enterprise  in  London,  a  cablegram  an 
nounced  to  him  one  day  that  his  busi 
ness  partner  in  the  United  States  had 
robbed  him  of  all  he  possessed.  Brood 
ing  over  his  ruined  business,  to  which 
he  had  given  ten  years  of  his  life  and 
sacrificed  his  health,  his  peace  of  mind 
fled  and  he  traveled  aimlessly  over  the 
Continent  in  search  of  anything  that 
might  bring  him  sleep  and  help  him  to 
bury  the  past.  The  doctors  sent  him 
to  Baden-Baden,  but  he  soon  found 
that  the  conventional  watering-place, 
where  one  reads  suffering  in  almost 
every  face,  proved  an  irritant  to  his 
insomnia.  The  more  he  came  in  contact 
with  humanity  the  more  he  felt  drawn 
toward  Nature.  So  he  started  on  a  tour 
74 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

of  the  Black  Forest.  At  Trieberg,  the 
picturesque  little  village  which  stands 
on  the  edge  of  a  great  waterfall  high 
up  in  the  dark,  pine-clothed  mountains, 
he  found  pleasure  for  a  few  days  in 
visiting  the  quaint  cottages  scattered 
through  the  surrounding  wilderness 
where  the  cuckoo  clocks,  music-boxes 
and  wood  carvings  are  made  that  al 
ways  attract  foreigners.  The  moun 
taineers  carry  these  clocks  and  carv 
ings  on  the  back  for  miles  down  the 
winding,  perilous  pathways  to  a  public 
exhibition  hall  at  Trieberg  in  which  is 
kept  a  full  line  of  samples  for  the  con 
venience  of  purchasers. 

But  the  novelty  of  these  scenes  soon 
wore  off,  and  on  the  third  da}^  after  his 
arrival  Gaston,  craving  excitement, 
bribed  the  custodian  of  this  exhibition 
h^ll  to  set  off  all  the  clocks  and  instru 
ments  at  intervals  of  one  second.  The 
chorus  of  a  thousand  cuckoos,  rein- 
75 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

forced  by  the  patriotic  rendering  of 
"  Die  Wacht  am  Khein,"  the  William 
Tell  Overture  and  "  Die  Lorelei  "  by 
scores  of  orchestrions  and  music-boxes, 
delighted  him,  but  proved  demoralizing 
to  a  party  of  American  tourists  bent  on 
doing  Europe  in  ten  days.  Mistaking 
their  excited  brandishing  of  alpen 
stocks,  umbrellas  and  Baedekers  for 
demonstrations  of  approval,  the  keeper 
kept  up  the  performance  until  the  in 
exorable  schedule  dragged  the  pros 
pective  purchasers  away.  They  had 
spent  the  ten  minutes  allotted  to  the 
Black  Forest. 

In  his  wanderings  and  search  for  ad 
venture,  G-aston  came  one  day  upon 
what  seemed  like  an  unused  trail  that 
led  higher  up  the  mountain  from  an 
almost  impenetrable  jumble  of  rocks 
and  pines  near  the  waterfall. 

"  The  Witches'  Path,"  exclaimed  his 
landlord,  when  questioned,  "  and  who- 
76 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

ever  follows  it  never  returns."  It 
might  have  an  outlet  in  another  valley 
beyond,  he  added,  but,  shaking  his 
head,  there  were  strange  stories  about 
the  Witches'  Path,  and  while  he  could 
not  verify  them  he  knew  that  no  one 
of  his  guests  who  had  essayed  to  ex 
plore  it  had  ever  come  back. 

Sick  of  chattering  men  and  women, 
harrowed  day  and  night  by  his  troubles, 
Gaston  rejoiced  in  the  prospect  of  an 
adventure  of  any  kind,  and  while  he 
smiled  at  the  suggestion  of  danger  lurk 
ing  in  the  recesses  of  the  Witches' 
Path,  he  secretly  hoped  there  might  be. 
Life  was  not  a  joyful  possession  to  Sey 
mour  Gaston  in  those  days,  and  he 
cared  little  whether  he  lived  or  died. 
So,  early  the  following  morning,  with 
a  well-provisioned  knapsack  on  his 
back  and  an  alpenstock  in  his  hand,  he 
set  out  upon  the  Witches'  Path.  After 
ten  hours  of  climbing,  crawling,  sliding 
77 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

and  slipping  over  almost  impassable 
rocks  and  through  impossible  thickets, 
the  trail  led  into  a  stretch  of  forest  so 
dense  as  to  completely  shut  out  the 
fading  daylight,  and  the  wanderer  was 
glad  to  accept  as  a  bed  the  thick,  end 
less  carpet  of  pine  needles  that  lay 
stretched  out  before  him.  The  follow 
ing  morning  he  resumed  his  journey 
and  at  noon  discovered,  high  on  the 
mountain  side,  what  appeared  like  a 
gray  toy-house  hidden  among  the  rocks 
and  pines.  After  another  hour  of  tire 
some  climbing  he  stood  before  a  cottage 
built  upon  the  very  edge  of  an  immense 
cleft.  From  far  below  echoed  the 
hoarse  booming  of  a  mountain  stream. 
His  knock  was  answered  by  a  short, 
white-bearded  mountaineer  with  pier 
cing  gray  eyes,  who,  upon  learning  that 
his  visitor  spoke  German,  received  him 
hospitably  with  the  remark  that  it  was 
seldom  indeed  that  visitors  came  his 
78 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

way  to  brighten  the  lonely  lives  of  him 
self  and  niece,  who,  he  added,  lived  by 
making  cuckoo  clocks.  It  required  no 
urging  on  the  part  of  Caspar  Kollner, 
the  cottager,  to  induce  his  guest  to 
defer  his  return  until  the  following  day, 
and  after  supper,  served  by  the  moun 
taineer's  attractive  young  niece,  the 
tourist  was  equally  willing  to  join  his 
host  in  a  pipe  and  game  of  ecarte,  while 
the  young  lady  looked  on  and  played 
weird  airs  upon  her  guitar.  Whether 
it  was  the  strange  quality  of  her  un 
deniable  beauty  and  the  sombre  mys 
tery  of  her  eyes,  or  her  music,  Gaston 
soon  lost  interest  in  the  game.  Al 
though  there  seemed  little  purpose  or 
training  in  her  half  listless  playing,  the 
sounds  seemed  to  hint  at  unfathomable 
things,  at  fancies  such  as  Gaston  sup 
posed  might  visit  the  soul  of  one  who 
had  strayed  from  the  paths  of  his 
fellow-men  into  an  exotic,  unhealthy 
79 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

world  of  his  own,  where  strange  birds 
sang  in  a  dusky,  scented  twilight.  He 
played  recklessly,  lost  steadily,  and 
was  repeatedly  compelled  to  resort 
to  the  Bank  of  England  notes  in  his 
wallet. 

"  You  are  in  bad  luck  to-night.  Shall 
we  stop?  You  must  be  tired  after  your 
long. tramp, "  at  last  suggested  the  host. 
Then,  counting  the  money  slowly  and 
with  evident  pleasure,  he  handed  to 
G-aston  all  the  latter  had  lost.  It  was 
promptly  pushed  back  protestingly, 
whereupon  Kollner  exclaimed,  "  Never! 
The  pleasure  is  mine;  the  money  is 
yours.  It  is  my  custom  to  play  for 
stakes  to  lend  interest  to  the  game,  but 
the  law  of  hospitality  forbids  my  keep 
ing  what  I  win."  So  Gaston  returned 
the  money  to  his  wallet  and  bade  his 
generous  host  and  hostess  good-night. 
Kollner  led  him  to  a  large,  low-studded 
room  on  the  upper  floor  in  which  every 
80 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

article    of    furniture    was    elaborately 
hand-carved. 

"  The  masterpiece  of  my  craft,"  ex 
claimed  Kollner,  as  he  pointed  with 
pride  to  a  mammoth  cuckoo  clock,  fully 
four  feet  wide  and  reaching  nearly  to 
the  ceiling.  "  But  our  proudest  pos 
session,"  he  continued,  as  he  led  his 
guest  through  a  tall  French  window 
upon  a  small  veranda,  "  is  this,"  point 
ing  to  a  view  that  caused  Gaston  to 
gasp  for  breath.  The  balcony  directly 
overhung  the  mighty  gorge,  and  from 
the  gulf  of  blackness  far  below  rose  the 
sound  of  the  tumultuous  stream,  while 
an  uncertain  moon  threw  fantastic 
shadows  over  the  towering  peaks 
above.  Most  wonderful  of  all,"  con 
tinued  Kollner,  "  is  the  echo,  *  The 
Ghost  of  the  Gorge  '  as  it  is  called. 
You  shall  hear  it  at  dawn."  With  that 
he  wound  up  and  set  the  big  clock,  add 
ing,  "  When  the  cuckoo  calls,  rise  and 
81 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

come  to  this  balcony.  My  niece  shall 
play  from  the  rocks  below  and  you  will 
hear  the  spirit  answer.  Good-night!  " 

As  on  many  other  weary  nights,  sleep 
refused  to  come  to  Gaston.  He  lay  for 
hours  listening  to  the  gurgle  of  the 
water  and  hearing  in  it  echoes  of  the 
wild  music  of  the  guitar.  Towards 
morning  a  feverish  slumber  came,  from 
which  he  was  aroused  by  the  shrill 
"  Cuckoo!  Cuckoo!  "  of  the  mechanical 
bird. 

Clad  in  his  pajamas  he  drowsily 
groped  his  way  in  the  dusk  towards  the 
balcony.  He  had  almost  reached  it 
when  he  overturned  the  chair  which 
had  served  to  keep  the  window  half 
open  during  the  night.  In  its  outward 
fall  it  carried  down  the  balcony  with 
a  crash  and  Gaston,  horror-stricken, 
barely  kept  his  balance  by  grasping  the 
window  casing.  From  the  dark  chasm 
rose  the  weird  strains  of  the  guitar, 
82 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

echoing  through  the  gorge.  The  Lore 
lei  was  calling!  But  her  notes  were 
drowned  by  the  shrill  creaking  of  the 
iron  hinges  upon  which  the  balcony 
now  swung  to  and  fro  below  Gaston, 
and  which,  like  a  flash,  told  him  he  had 
been  led  to  a  man-trap  of  hellish  in 
genuity.  Instantly  horror  gave  way  to 
anger  and  the  instinct  of  self-defence 
roused  him  to  action.  For  months  he 
had  been  reckless  of  danger,  almost 
courted  death.  Now  he  was  seized  with 
an  overpowering  desire  to  live.  He 
turned  from  the  window  and  began  to 
dress  hurriedly  when  a  noise  attracted 
his  attention  to  the  cuckoo  clock.  Was 
it  a  hideous  delusion?  No!  The  thing 
was  actually  moving  towards  the  centre 
of  the  room!  In  another  instant  Koll- 
ner  appeared  from  an  adjoining  room 
through  a  door  which  the  clock  had 
concealed,  his  eyes  glaring  fiendishly  as 
they  rested  upon  the  empty  bed.  Then, 
83 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

as  lie  turned  and  saw  Gaston,  his  face 
became  a  mask  of  absolute  fright  and 
bewilderment.  For  a  moment  only  he 
recoiled,  then  flung  himself  upon  his 
guest  with  the  fury  of  a  beast.  Each 
instantly  realized  that  the  struggle 
would  be  to  the  death.  Frenzied  by  the 
miscarrying  of  his  diabolical  plot,  the 
mountaineer  struggled  madly,  blindly, 
for  a  grip  that  should  enable  him  to 
hurl  his  adversary  over  the  mighty 
precipice.  Foiled  again  and  again  by 
the  agility  of  Gaston  and  forced  to  the 
defensive,  he  turned  towards  the  open 
door  to  escape.  As  he  did  so  Gaston 
rushed  upon  him,  pinned  his  arms  to  his 
sides,  and  pushed  him  inch  by  inch  to 
the  open  window,  and  —  Caspar  Koll- 
ner  reached  the  end  of  the  Witches' 
Path!  Ten  minutes  later  Gaston  found 
the  niece  quietly  preparing  breakfast. 
She  looked  surprised,  but  when  he  told 
her  that  her  uncle  and  not  he  had  an- 

84 


When  the  Cuckoo  Called 

swered  the  Lorelei's  call,  she  asked, 
with  naive  innocence,  what  he  meant. 
It  was  only  after  he  had  threatened  to 
hand  her  over  to  the  police  at  Trieberg 
that  she  made  this  confession:  — 

She  had  been  brought  up  by  her 
uncle,  who  had  invented  the  folding 
balcony,  and  who  always  engaged  his 
guests  in  a  game  of  cards.  He  invari 
ably  won  because  he  had  taught  her  as 
a  child  to  signal,  by  means  of  notes  and 
chords  on  the  guitar,  the  cards  held  by. 
his  opponent.  He  thus  learned  if  his 
guests  were  supplied  with  money,  and 
to  gain  their  full  confidence  returned 
all  they  had  lost.  He  was  enabled  to 
set  the  man-trap  from  his  room  below. 
Although  the  gorge  held  the  remains  of 
thirty  victims,  it  was  his  boast  that  he 
had  never  killed  a  man,  that  each  had 
of  his  own  free  will  walked  into  eter 
nity. 

Gaston  had  heard  enough.     He  did 
85 


When  the  Cuckoo   Called 

not  stop  for  breakfast.  He  left  Trie- 
berg  the  following  evening  and  thoughts 
of  his  business  troubles  no  longer  occu 
pied  his  mind.  When  he  returned  to 
America  he  set  to  work  to  retrieve  his 
lost  fortune,  and  the  folding  fire-escape, 
he  tells  his  friends,  was  suggested  by 
something  he  saw  abroad. 

Gaston  does  not  claim  the  gift  of  sec 
ond  sight,  but  he  knows,  he  says,  that 
in  the  performance  of  the  Zillerthalers, 
the  weird  strains  produced  by  "  The 
Girl  with  the  Guitar  "  describe  to  her 
blindfolded  sister  the  articles  borrowed 
of  the  audience. 


86 


ONE  CHANCE  IN  A  MILLION 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

AS  the  traveler,  turning  his  back 
to  the  setting  sun,  descends  into 
Paradise  Valley,  there  spreads 
before  him  a  brilliant  checker-board  of 
orchard  and  vineyard.  Beyond  this  an 
extensive  and  picturesque  group  of  red 
buildings  gleams  still  ruddier,  and  upon 
one  corner  of  the  roof  of  the  principal 
structure  a  small  house  of  glass  glistens 
like  a  huge  jewel  in  the  sunset  glow. 
Approaching  nearer,  the  buildings  are 
seen  to  be  surrounded  by  parks  and 
gardens,  where  men  and  women  are 
amusing  themselves  with  golf  and  base 
ball,  croquet  and  tennis,  under  the 
watchful  eyes  of  discreet  attendants. 

Here  is  the  home  of  many  a  human 
wreck,  cast  upon  the  shores  of  mental 
89 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

oblivion  in  the  strenuous  struggle  of 
life  —  the  man  who,  during  the  gold 
fever  of  '49,  found  fortune  to  lose  all 
else,  he  who  sacrificed  everything  and 
gained  nothing,  and  hundreds  of  others, 
men  and  women,  who  have  proved  un 
equal  to  the  strain  on  nerve  and  brain 
imposed  by  the  stress  of  an  unkindly 
Fate. 

Walking  apart  from  these  groups 
may  be  seen  a  white-haired  man  of 
melancholy  mien,  who  pauses  occasion 
ally  and  makes  a  peculiar  motion  with 
his  hands,  as  if  in  the  act  of  cutting 
with  an  imaginary  pocket  knife.  This 
man  is  the  sole  occupant  of  the  glass 
house  on  the  roof,  which  is  always  bril 
liantly  lighted,  blazing  all  night  with 
electric  lamps.  At  intervals  of  a  few 
months,  he  is  visited  by  two  ladies,  who 
seem  extremely  solicitous  for  his  wel 
fare,  and  twice  a  year  a  noted  alienist 
from  Paris  comes  to  study  this  interest- 
go 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 


ing  case.    Here  is  the  story  of  this  pe 
culiar  patient : 

Anyone  with  a  sweet  tooth  and  a 
good  memory  will  recall  the  curious  lit 
tle  pear-shaped  sweetmeats  which  were 
so  popular  thirty  years  ago  and  then 
suddenly  dropped  out  of  sight.  Every 
one  bought  and  talked  of  the  new 
candy,  which  was  small,  apple-green 
and  translucent,  with  a  curious  red 
streak  in  the  core.  It  was  not  only  very 
delicious  to  the  taste,  but  produced  a 
strange  effect  of  mental  and  physical 
stimulation,  of  buoyancy  —  almost  of 
intoxication.  Totally  different  from 
the  action  of  any  known  drug,  however, 
and  especially  from  alcohol,  it  had  ab 
solutely  no  deleterious  reaction,  but  on 
the  contrary  seemed  to  exercise  a  tonic 
influence  upon  the  nervous  system. 
Joy  Drops,  as  they  were  called,  wore 
carried  in  school-children's  satchels, 
sold  on  trains,  taken  as  a  "  pick- 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

me-up  ?  by  men,  ordered  by  society 
ladies  for  their  "  functions  "  and  con 
sumed  by  shop-girls  by  the  ton. 

The  enormous  profits  from  their 
sales  were  not  divided  among  share 
holders,  but  all  went  to  one  man,  Wal 
ter  H.  Torreton,  the  inventor  and  man 
ufacturer,  who,  starting  in  a  small  way, 
had  constantly  increased  his  business 
and  incidentally  the  fame  of  the  Lake 
city  where  he  lived.  There  he  bought 
the  handsomest  estate  on  Park  Avenue 
and  built  extensive  conservatories,  giv 
ing  much  personal  attention  to  a 
unique  species  of  lily,  which  had  never 
before  been  seen,  called  by  him  the 
multi-bloom. 

As  the  fame  of  Torreton 's  confec 
tionery  spread,  other  manufacturers 
put  imitations  on  the  market,  but  with 
out  success.  Though  their  candy 
looked  much  the  same,  it  wholly  lacked 
the  peculiar  qualities  of  the  genuine 
92 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

Joy  Drops,  in  which  analysis  had  failed 
to  reveal  anything  more  than  sugar,  a 
little  fruit  flavoring  and  the  merest 
trace  of  some  quite  unknown  but  very 
volatile  essence,  which  appeared  to  be 
located  in  the  red  central  stripe. 

Torreton  received  large  offers  for  the 
use  of  his  secret  formula,  but  these  he 
promptly  declined,  and  went  on  en 
larging  his  business.  Then  his  com 
petitors  began  a  systematic  endeavor 
to  steal  what  they  could  not  buy.  In 
formation  was  lodged  with  the  internal 
revenue  officers  that  the  candy  con 
tained  alcohol,  but  this  was  disproved 
by  the  government  analysis,  which, 
however,  utterly  failed  to  show  the 
nature  of  the  characteristic  ingredient. 
Torreton  often  found  spy-glasses  and 
cameras  levelled  upon  his  laboratory 
windows  from  buildings  across  the 
way.  Eepeated  attempts  were  made  to 
bribe  his  workmen,  but  they  only 
93 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

served  to  bring  out  the  fact  that  no  one 
knew  the  secret  but  Torreton  himself. 
Then  complaint  was  brought  against 
him  for  violating  the  fire  regulations, 
and  among  the  inspectors  who  came 
when  an  investigation  was  ordered  he 
recognized  a  chemist  from  Chicago. 
But  even  this  spy,  after  gaining  access 
to  the  citadel,  and  peering  and  sniffing 
about  the  premises,  could  find  no  clue 
but  a  strange  aroma  which  he  could 
not  identify.  Some  express  packages 
which  arrived  at  the  factory  were 
traced  back  to  Amsterdam,  where, 
after  a  tedious  search,  it  was  found 
that  they  had  been  originally  shipped 
across  the  ocean  by  Torreton  himself, 
merely  as  a  blind.  When  it  seemed  as 
if  persecution  and  inquisition  could  go 
no  further,  the  inventor,  one  evening  on 
leaving  the  factory,  discovered  a  small 
balloon  anchored  over  his  laboratory 
skylight ! 

94 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

Not  long  after  this,  a  real  estate  firm, 
acting,  it  was  surmised,  for  a  foreign 
syndicate,  bought  a  vacant  trace  of 
land  on  the  outskirts,  commonly  known 
as  Sumach  Park.  On  the  high  ground 
in  the  centre  a  large  brick  building 
was  erected  and  enclosed  by  a  high 
brick  wall  like  those  which  give  pri 
vacy  to  many  English  estates.  The 
building  itself  was  surmounted  by  a 
glass  structure,  somewhat  like  the  lan 
tern  of  a  lighthouse,  and  was  the  cause 
of  much  curiosity.  This  curiosity  was 
partially  gratified  eventually,  and  the 
story  of  a  foreign  syndicate  shattered 
by  the  following  notice,  which  ap 
peared  one  evening  in  all  the  papers : 

ONE  THOUSAND  DOLLARS  REWARD  will 
be  paid  by  the  undersigned  to  the  person  who 
first  brings  news  to  his  residence  on  Park  Ave 
nue  that  the  electric  light  has  gone  out  in  the 
cupola  of  the  new  Torreton  Confectionery 
Workg,  in  Sumach  Park. 

WALTER  H.  TORRETON. 

As  soon  as  the  papers  were  on  the 
street,  men  went  out  of  their  way  to 
95 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

get  a  look  at  the  new  light.  There  it 
was,  sure  enough,  and  as  the  darkness 
gathered  it  displayed  a  beautiful  green 
pear,  with  a  red  streak  in  the  centre, 
a  gleaming  reproduction  of  the  famous 
candy.  It  was  pronounced  a  great  ad 
vertisement,  but  one  scarcely  neces 
sary  in  a  locality  where  the  confection 
itself  was  already  in  the  mouth  of 
everybody.  However,  the  reward  of 
fered  was  tempting,  and  not  only  did 
every  policeman  and  fireman  immedi 
ately  become  a  night  watchman  for  the 
Torreton  works,  but  every  man  and 
boy  as  well  who  could  invent  any  pre 
text  for  being  out. 

But  while  thus,  in  one  sense,  sub 
jected  to  closer  espionage  than  ever, 
Torreton's  factory  was  no  longer 
troubled  by  the  spies  of  his  rivals,  and 
his  business  increased  even  beyond  his 
expectations.  Still  he  labored  regularly 
as  ever,  and  lived  with  his  wife  and 

96 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

niece  just  as  quietly,  his  only  extrava 
gance  being  frequent  additions  to  his 
greenhouses. 

The  light  in  the  cupola  burned  stead 
ily,  and  the  tempting  reward  seemed 
destined  to  remain  unclaimed,  until  one 
evening  more  than  two  years  after  the 
completion  of  the  building,  when  a 
newsboy  lingering  late  in  the  endeavor 
to  dispose  of  an  overstock  of  "  extrys  " 
suddenly  saw  a  blurred  halo  surround 
ing  the  green  and  red  beacon.  It  trem 
bled,  grew  pale  and  — 

The  light  went  out! 

Dropping  his  papers,  the  boy  took 
the  shortest  route  to  Park  Avenue,  but 
soon  found  he  was  not  alone  in  the  race 
for  the  Torreton  residence,  as  he 
passed  men  and  boys  and  even  women, 
all  silently  striving  for  the  promised 
reward.  A  watchful  and  active  fire 
man  was  the  first  to  arrive  in  the  pres 
ence  of  Mrs.  Torreton  to  claim  it,  and 
97 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

she,  with  her  niece,  who  acted  as  con 
fidential  secretary  to  her  uncle  at  the 
factory,  were  already  in  a  carriage 
swinging  out  of  the  grounds  when  the 
great  body  of  panting  messengers  ar 
rived. 

During  the  anxious  drive  to  Sumach 
Park,  the  girl  explained  that,  rather 
earlier  than  usual,  her  uncle  told  her 
he  was  going  to  the  city  and  would  not 
return  to  the  works.  When  she  started 
for  home  she  had  noticed  that  the  door 
to  a  small  inner  laboratory  vault,  in 
which  Mr.  Torreton  kept  his  most  im 
portant  chemicals  and  papers,  was 
open.  She  had  closed  and  locked  it. 
What  connection  this  incident  might 
have  with  the  extinguishing  of  the 
light  she  could  not  imagine,  yet  she  felt 
that  something  was  wrong,  as  any  at 
tempt  to  enter  the  building  by  night 
would  put  out  the  beacon  and  give  an 
alarm. 

98 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

Followed  by  Mrs.  Torreton  and  a 
policeman  from  the  crowd  assembled 
about  the  factory,  the  niece  led  the  way 
through  the  building.  Although  this 
was  four  stories  high,  all  the  stairways 
and  elevators  stopped  at  the  third  floor. 
The  private  laboratories  on  the  top 
floor  were  never  entered  by  any  one 
but  Torreton  and  his  niece,  who  went 
there  daily,  drawing  themselves  up  by 
an  ingenious  contrivance  like  a  dumb 
waiter  built  into  the  wall  and  concealed 
behind  a  panel  in  the  private  secre 
tary's  office.  To  this  she  now  went,  and 
under  her  direction  the  others  ascended 
one  at  a  time  to  the  floor  above.  The 
laboratory  was  in  darkness,  and  the 
electric  light  would  not  work.  But  as 
they  approached  the  door  of  the  vault 
by  lantern  light,  strange  noises  were 
heard.  Tremblingly  the  girl  worked 
the  combination  and  released  the  heavy 
door.  Torreton  was  there  and  alive, 
99 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

and  without  speaking  he  stumbled 
blindly  toward  the  light,  and  then  fell 
unconscious. 

Before  closing  the  vault  again,  the 
niece  looked  wonderingly  in.  Burned 
matches  and  paper  ashes  attracted  her 
attention.  They  lay  on  the  floor,  be 
neath  the  electric  light  bracket.  On  a 
shelf  lay  a  note  hastily  scrawled  on  a 
Joy  Drop  wrapper: 

"  Locked  in  —  suffocating.  Secret 
shall  die  with  me.  Have  burned  the 
formula.  Wife  has  enough — she  shall 
not  be  persecuted  as  I  have  been. 
Good-bye. " 

Beneath  this  was  written: 

"  A  thought  has  come  to  me  that 
may  save  my  life:  I  sliall  try  to  give 
the  alarm  by  cutting  the  electric  wires 
and  putting  out  the  cupola  light." 

He  had  indeed  given  the  alarm  in 
time  to  save  his  life,  but  his  mind  be- 
100 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

came  a  complete  blank.  The  Torre- 
ton  Joy  Drops  disappeared  from  the 
market,  and  the  light  in  the  cupola  of 
the  deserted  works  has  never  been  re 
lighted.  Finally,  even  the  family  resi 
dence  was  given  to  the  city  for  a  hos 
pital,  but  it  was  not  until  after  the 
extensive  greenhouses  had  been  dis 
mantled  and  their  treasures  scattered 
that  it  was  suggested  that  they  might 
have  held  the  secret  of  the  famous 
sweetmeat.  That  secret,  with  its  possi 
bilities,  lies  hopelessly  buried  in  the 
darkened  brain  of  Walter  Torreton. 

And  it  is  darkness  alone  that  dis 
turbs  him  now.  It  was  observed  from 
the  beginning  of  the  attempts  to  treat 
his  remarkable  case  that  he  displayed 
the  utmost  repugnance  to  darkness, 
and  grew  nervous,  uneasy  and  wild  as 
twilight  came  on.  He  is  happy  only 
in  a  glare  of  light,  and  it  was  upon  the 
advice  of  an  eminent  Parisian  special- 
101 


One  Chance  in  a  Million 

1st  that  he  was  finally  removed  to  the 
beautiful  California  valley,  where  he 
lives,  day  and  night,  in  a  flood  of  radi 
ance.  His  mind  slipped  a  cog,  the  spe 
cialist  says,  which  may  slip  back  again, 
just  as  a  train  that  has  jumped  the 
track  may  jump  back  —  but  it  is  one 
chance  in  a  million. 


102 


DOODLE'S   DISCOVEKY 


Doodle's  Discovery 


JOHN  JEFFERSON  DOODLE  de 
rived  a  large  amount  of  pleasure 
from  the  knowledge  that  he  was 
considered  a  crank.  In  Doodle's  opin 
ion  cranks  were  persons  who,  knowing 
the  right  way,  refused  to  have  things 
done  in  any  other.  John  Jefferson  de 
manded  full  value  for  his  own  money 
and  persisted  in  giving  the  same  in  re 
turn  for  the  money  of  others.  Busi 
ness  back-steps,  fool  fakery,  and  lame 
excuses  were  foreign  to  his  methods, 
so  when  he  opened  his  restaurant  suc 
cess  was  assured.  Doodle's  was  the 
most  up-to-date  cafe  in  the  entire  eat 
ing  zone.  The  food,  service  and  ap 
pointments  were  of  the  best,  and  from 
the  opening  day  the  future  prosperity 
of  Doodle  was  something  that  a  fifth- 
105 


Doodle's  Discovery 


rate  prophet  could  foretell  without  run 
ning  the  risk  of  a  headache. 

But  Doodle's  Cafe  was  in  the  direct 
line  of  a  trouble  cyclone.  In  the  wash 
rooms  connected  with  the  establish 
ment  the  proprietor  supplied  the  finest 
toilet  soap  that  money  could  buy,  but 
unfortunately  for  the  peace  of  mind  of 
John  Jefferson  he  was  called  upon  to 
supply  much  more  than  legitimate 
demands  required.  Expensive  soap 
proved  a  tempting  bait  to  unprincipled 
patrons,  and  Doodle  soon  discovered 
that  something  like  forty  dollars' 
worth  of  soap  was  required  to  meet 
the  daily  demands  of  his  six  hundred 
patrons.  Legitimate  hand.-washing 
could  not  possibly  be  responsible  for 
this  enormous  outlay,  so  Doodle  set  his 
brain  the  task  of  devising  a  plan  by 
which  the  thieves  could  be  detected. 

As  all  the  world  knows,  various  in 
genious  schemes  have  been  tried  with 
106 


Doodle's  Discovery 


the  object  of  protecting  the  soap  in  the 
washrooms  of  hotels  and  restaurants. 
The  cakes  have  been  chained  to  the 
washstands,  for  example,  only  to  be 
cut  away  by  well-to-do  people  who  take 
things  as  they  come.  Again,  hotel  pro 
prietors  have  put  up  liquid  soap  in 
fixed  contrivances,  but  the  kleptomani 
acs  outwitted  the  vigilance  of  the  wor 
ried  owners.  The  soap  was  carried 
away  in  bottles,  and  the  unfortunate 
proprietors,  finding  it  impossible  to  cir 
cumvent  the  ingenuity  of  the  thieves, 
furnished  common  soap  in  large  quan 
tities  as  the  only  means  of  lessening 
their  loss. 

But  Doodle  continued  to  buy  the 
finest  toilet  soap  that  was  on  the  mar 
ket,  and  he  was  determined  that  no 
thief  would  make  him  change  his  meth 
ods.  On  this  account  he  set  his  wits 
to  work  and  Doodle's  Soap  Thief  De 
tector  was  the  result. 
107 


Doodle's  Discovery 


The  cafe  owner  was  in  rapture  over 
his  invention.  Its  ability  to  do  all 
that  he  claimed  for  it  was  beyond  ques 
tion.  He  had  it  patented,  fitted  to 
the  wash-stands,  and  then  awaited 
results. 

The  Detector  was  a  simple  contri 
vance.  It  consisted  of  a  small  kodak- 
like  arrangement  concealed  behind  the 
mirror  that  hung  above  each  wash 
bowl,  the  eye  of  the  camera  being  hid 
den  among  the  electric  light  fixtures. 
The  picture-taking  device  was  con 
nected  with  the  soap  tray  in  such  a 
manner  that  a  person  lifting  the  soap 
relieved  the  pressure  upon  a  button  in 
the  bottom  of  the  tray  and  was  by  this 
means  immediately  photographed  by 
the  unseen  instrument.  When  the  soap 
was  replaced  a  self -developing  film  was 
moved  up  in  readiness  to  snap  the  next 
person  who  lifted  the  tablet,  but  if 
it  was  not  replaced  the  photographic 
108 


Doodle's  Discovery 


apparatus  stopped  working  and  the 
picture  of  the  soap  thief  was,  there 
fore,  the  last  on  the  film. 

Doodle  gave  orders  to  his  staff  to 
immediately  report  to  him  when  they 
found  a  cake  of  soap  missing  from  its 
tray,  and  on  the  first  day  he  waited 
anxiously.  John  Jefferson  had  philan 
thropic  ideas  and  he  considered  the  ex 
posure  of  a  soap  thief  an  act  for  the 
benefit  of  the  community.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait.  Dinner  had  scarcely 
begun  when  a  cake  of  soap  was  re 
ported  missing  and  the  proprietor  im 
mediately  stepped  to  the  washroom  and 
took  the  film  from  its  place  of  conceal 
ment.  The  last  snapshot  was  that  of 
a  well-dressed  middle-aged  man,  and 
Doodle,  with  the  long  film  in  his  hand, 
walked  down  the  big  dining-room  in 
search  of  the  original.  At  the  very  last 
table  he  found  his  man,  and,  leaning 
over,  addressed  him. 
109 


Doodle's  Discovery 


'  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  quietly, 
touching  an  overcoat  that  hung  near 
the  customer,  "  is  this  your  overcoat?  " 

The  diner  nodded. 

"  Then,"  continued  John  Jefferson, 
"  will  you  kindly  take  out  of  the  pocket 
the  cake  of  soap  you  took  from  the 
wash-stand  a  few  moments  ago?  " 

The  accused  man  grew  red  in  the  face 
and  indignant,  but  Doodle  was  per 
sistent. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  when  the  cus 
tomer  refused  to  comply  with  the  re 
quest,  "  I  will  take  it  out  myself.  It 
belongs  to  me." 

He  inserted  his  hand  in  the  pocket 
of  the  overcoat  and  drew  forth  the 
missing  soap  wrapped  in  one  of  the 
small  hand  towels  also  belonging  to  the 
establishment. 

"  As  I  thought,"  commented  Doodle. 
"  A  wet  piece  of  soap  calls  for  a  dry 
wrapper,  and  I  suffer  doubly.  Now, 
no 


Doodle's  Discovery 


sir,  you  had  better  keep  quiet.  I  have 
the  picture  of  the  fellow  who  took  the 
soap,  and  that  picture  is  yours. "  He 
pushed  the  film  before  the  eyes  of  the 
astonished  diner  and  that  person  im 
mediately  grabbed  his  hat  and  coat, 
paid  his  check,  and  fled. 

The  Thief  Detector  did  good  work  on 
its  first  day.  Twenty-seven  prominent 
citizens  were  among  those  detected, 
and  the  machine  finished  up  the  day's 
work  by  photographing  the  mayor  of 
the  city,  who  was  accompanied  by  three 
ladies.  The  official  blustered  when 
Doodle  made  the  accusation,  but,  like 
the  others,  was  forced  into  a  corner 
when  confronted  with  the  tell-tale  film, 
and  he  drew  a  cake  of  soap  from  his 
pocket  when  the  proprietor  threatened 
to  call  an  officer. 

In  ten  days  Doodle  had  recovered 
thirteen  hundred  and  eleven  cakes  of 
soap,  or,  more  correctly  speaking,  he 
in 


Doodle's  Discovery 


had  recovered  several  cakes  thirteen 
hundred  and  eleven  times  from  the 
same  number  of  soap  thieves,  who  were 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  their  theft  had 
been  recorded  by  the  unseen  instru 
ment.  And  in  no  single  instance  had 
the  Detector  made  a  mistake. 

But  Doodle  found  that  the  detection 
of  soap  thieves  was  a  costly  business. 
The  thirteen  hundred  and  eleven  cus 
tomers  detected  in  the  act  of  purloin 
ing  the  cakes  of  soap  did  not  return, 
and  each  day  made  matters  worse.  The 
Detector's  average  decreased  as  the 
patrons  fell  away,  but  each  day  it 
scored  its  victims. 

And  Doodle  was  determined.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
not  allow  a  man  who  paid  seventy-five 
cents  for  a  dinner  to  carry  off  forty 
cents'  worth  of  soap,  and  the  moment 
the  machine  registered  a  thief  John 
Jefferson  lost  no  time  in  making  the 

112 


Doodle's  Discovery 


accusation  and  recovering  the  stolen 
property. 

On  the  twenty-fifth  day  after  the 
installation  of  the  invention  Doodle 
had  but  ten  customers  to  dinner,  and 
before  the  meal  was  over  John  Jeffer 
son  Doodle  retired  to  his  office,  and 
throwing  himself  into  a  chair  spent 
some  two  hours  in  considering  the  sit 
uation.  He  then  arose  and  acted  with 
sudden  energy.  He  dictated  a  lengthy 
telegram  and  after  seeing  that  it  was 
immediately  dispatched,  he  drafted  a 
circular  and  had  it  typewritten.  Then, 
with  a  satisfied  expression  upon  his 
face,  he  sat  down  and  awaited  events. 

And  he  had  not  long  to  wait.  Two 
hours  after  the  dispatch  of  the  wire  a 
fat  man  walked  into  the  dining-rooms 
and  asked  for  the  proprietor.  John 
Jefferson  inclined  his  head  and  mo 
tioned  the  stranger  to  a  seat. 

"  I  am  the  president  of  the  Interna- 


Doodle's  Discovery 


tional  Toilet  Soap  Trust,"  said  the 
newcomer  eagerly,  "  and  I  came  in  re 
sponse  to  your  peculiar  telegram.  It 
is  a  trifle  vague,  and  we  want  more  in 
formation  regarding  the  matter  you 
mentioned." 

John  Jefferson  Doodle  stood  up,  and 
without  speaking  led  the  way  to  the 
washroom.  With  a  grim  smile  upon 
his  face  he  explained  the  mechanism  of 
the  Soap  Thief  Detector  to  the  presi 
dent  of  the  International  Toilet  Soap 
Trust,  and  the  fat  man  breathed  heav- 


" 


There  is  nothing  vague  about 
this,"  sneered  Doodle.  "  What  I  wired 
you  is  the  truth.  Nine  out  of  every  ten 
people  who  steal  soap  from  hotels  and 
restaurants  never  buy  toilet  soap. 
Therefore,  the  more  thieving  the  more 
soap  you  will  sell  us,  and  it  stands  to 
reason  that  you  do  not  wish  the  Thief 
Detector  to  come  into  general  use." 
114 


Doodle's  Discovery 


"  Into  general  use?'  queried  the 
visitor. 

"  Yes,"  snapped  Doodle.  "I'm  go 
ing  to  have  this  circular  printed, 
which  tells  the  whole  story  in  plain 
language.  If  every  hotel,  cafe,  and 
boarding-house  uses  one  —  but,  there, 
read  it,  and  then  I'll  talk  terms  with 


vou. ' 


The  president  of  the  International 
Toilet  Soap  Trust  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  read  the  document,  then  he 
did  some  rapid  figuring  on  the  back  of 
an  envelope. 

"  What  are  your  terms?  "  he  asked 
sullenly. 

"  A  quarter  of  a  million  for  all 
rights,"  cried  Doodle.  "  If  you  don't 
want  it  I  guess  that  every  member  of 
the  Hotel,  Restaurant  and  Boarding 
House  Union  will  feel  glad  when  they 
get  my  circular.  There  are  over  two 
hundred  thousand  members,  and  the 


Doodle's  Discovery 


trifling  sum  of  flve  dollars  a  head  will 
yield  me  over  a  million." 

The  other  stood  silent  for  a  moment, 
regarding  the  face  of  John  Jefferson 
with  his  keen  gray  eyes. 

"  I  couldn't  do  it  on  my  own  respon 
sibility,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Get  busy  on  the  long-distance 
'phone,"  suggested  Doodle.  "  Call  a 
special  meeting  of  directors  and  ex 
plain  matters,  and  I'll  await  the  deci 
sion.  If  your  people  don't  buy,  I'll 
promise  you  that  the  Great  Soap  Thief 
Detector  will  be  known  from  Mindanao 
to  Baffin's  Bay  inside  three  months." 

Three  hours  afterwards  the  fat  man 
returned,  and  picking  up  a  pen  he 
wrote  a  check  in  favor  of  Doodle  for 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
which  he  exchanged  for  a  deed,  convey 
ing  all  rights  in  the  Detector.  He  then 
stepped  into  the  washroom,  tore  the 
picture  machine  from  its  hiding  place, 
116 


Doodle's  Discovery 


disconnected  the  wires  leading  to  the 
soap  tray,  and  ripped  the  film  into  a 
thousand  pieces. 

"I've  seen  enough  of  that  thing,"  he 
growled  angrily.  "  '  Cleanliness  is 
next  to  Godliness,'  and  the  man  who 
stops  another  man  from  stealing  soap 
is  running  pretty  near  the  sin  line,  I 
take  it." 

Then,  with  a  final  snort  of  disgust, 
he  went  out  into  the  street,  and  the 
doors  of  Doodle's  Famous  Dining- 
rooms  were  closed.  Doodle  the  Crank 
was  happy  and  —  rich. 


117 


KOOTCHIE 


119 


Kootchie 


THE  east  wind  had  failed  to  put 
in  an  appearance  that  evening, 
and    the    thermometer    regis 
tered  ninety-five  under  the  stately  elms 
of  the  Boston  Common. 

The  family  had  gone  away  for  the 
summer,  and  Buttons  and  the  butler 
were  out  for  an  airing.  Both  were  so 
well  fed  and  so  little  exercised  that  they 
needed  something  to  stir  their  blood. 

Buttons  was  a  sleek,  fat  pug,  with  a 
knowing  eye  and  oily  manner.  They 
called  him  Buttons  because  the  harness 
he  wore  about  his  forequarters  was 
studded  with  shining  ornaments. 

His  companion  was  likewise  sleek 
and  fat,  and  the  amount  of  lofty  dignity 
he  stored  under  his  bobtailed  jacket 

121 


Kootchie 


and  broadcloth  trousers  told  everybody 
that  he  was  the  butler.  He  carried  a 
wicked  little  cane  with  a  loaded  head, 
and  seemed  to  own  the  greater  part  of 
the  earth. 

As  the  two  strolled  proudly  through 
the  Beacon  Street  Mall,  fate  favored 
Buttons  and  the  butler.  There  was  a 
cat  on  the  Common,— a  pet  cat  without 
an  escort.  This  cat  belonged  to  one  of 
the  wealthy  families  who  at  the  tail  end 
of  winter  board  up  their  city  residences 
and  go  to  the  country  to  spend  the  sum 
mer  and  save  their  taxes.  The  owners 
of  this  particular  cat  had  speeded  mis 
sionaries  to  the  four  corners  of  the 
globe  to  evangelize  the  heathen,  but 
their  pet  puss  they  had  turned  into  the 
streets  of  the  modern  Athens  to  seek 
its  own  salvation.  With  no  home  or 
visible  means  of  support,  but  with  true 
feline  fortitude,  the  dumb  creature  now 
haunted  the  doorstep  of  the  deserted 

122 


Kootchie 


mansion  and  grew  thin.  Hunger  had 
at  last  driven  her  to  the  Common  in  the 
hope  that  she  might  surprise  an  erring 
sparrow,  or,  perchance,  purloin  a  for 
getful  frog  from  the  pond. 

The  instant  Buttons  spied  her  he 
gave  chase  and  drove  her  for  refuge 
into  a  small  tree.  Then  he  stood  below 
and  barked  furiously,  until  the  sympa 
thizing  butler  shook  the  tree  and  gave 
him  another  chance.  This  time  the  cat 
barely  succeeded  in  reaching  a  low 
perch  on  the  iron  fence,  from  which 
with  terrified  gaze  she  watched  her  tor 
mentor. 

"  Why  do  you  torture  that  cat?  " 
angrily  asked  a  quiet  gentleman  who 
sat  on  one  of  the  shady  benches  hold 
ing  a  yellow-haired  little  girl  on  his 
knee. 

"  Oh,  me  and  Buttons  is  having  a 
little  fun,"  answered  the  butler.  "  But 
tons  is  death  on  cats." 
123 


Kootchie 


The  quiet  man  said  nothing,  but  got 
up,  helped  the  frightened  cat  to  escape 
to  a  safe  hiding-place,  and  then  re 
sumed  his  seat. 

That  night  puss  went  to  bed  without 
a  supper,  while  her  owner  presided  at 
the  one  hundred  and  eleventh  seaside 
anniversary  of  the  Society  for  the  Pre 
vention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals,  and 
punctuated  the  courses  of  a  fish  din 
ner  with  rare  vintages  of  missionary 
port. 

The  next  evening  the  same  heat  hung 
heavily  over  the  Beacon  Street  Mall, 
and  Buttons  and  the  butler  were  again 
taking  an  airing  and  looking  for  fun. 

As  Buttons  neared  the  scene  of  his 
former  encounter,  he  pricked  up  his 
ears,  and  sniffed  the  air  for  the  scent 
of  game.  Presently  his  anxious  eye 
was  attracted  by  something  his  pug 
nose  had  failed  to  detect.  On  a  bench 
near  by  sat  the  quiet  gentleman  whose 
124 


Kootchie 


acquaintance  Buttons  and  the  butler 
had  made  on  the  previous  evening. 
The  same  yellow-haired  little  girl  was 
seated  near  him,  intently  watching  the 
rings  of  cigar  smoke  he  puffed  high 
into  the  evening  air.  Between  the  two 
a  huge  inflated  paper  bag  was  surging 
to  and  fro.  It  was  this  paper  bag  that 
had  caught  the  eye  of  Buttons.  It  in 
terested  him.  Drawing  himself  all  up 
in  a  heap,  he  proceeded  with  cautious, 
measured  step  to  satisfy  his  curiosity. 
As  he  slowly  approached  the  curious 
object,  his  low,  fretful  growls  seemed 
to  rouse  it  to  renewed  gymnastics. 
This  frightened  Buttons  and  caused 
him  to  turn  tail  and  flee.  His  curiosity 
had,  however,  got  the  better  of  him, 
and,  returning  to  what  he  deemed  a 
safe  distance,  he  began  barking  furi 
ously. 

"  Cat,  Buttons,  where 's  the  cat?  " 
came  from  the  butler,  who  was  lei- 
125 


Kootchie 


surely  bringing   up   the   rear,   uncon 
scious  of  Buttons 's  find. 

With  renewed  courage,  the  pug 
rushed  towards  the  paper  bag.  He  had 
almost  reached  it  when  the  quiet  gen 
tleman  gave  the  bag  an  opening  twist, 
and,  as  a  furry  head  with  a  pair  of  fiery 
eyes  shot  out,  he  exclaimed : 

"Hi,  hi,  Kootchie!  " 

The  earnestness  with  which  Kootchie 
"  hi,  hied  "  became  instantly  apparent 
by  the  piteous  howls  that  rose  from  out 
of  the  murderous  clawing,  snarling 
mass  of  flying  fur  and  silver  ornaments. 
And  the  speed  with  which  Buttons 's 
companion  hastened  to  the  rescue  with 
his  loaded  cane  proved  that  even  a 
Boston  butler  can  get  a  move  on.  Be 
fore  he  could  interfere,  however,  the 
quiet  gentleman  took  a  hand  in  the 
game. 

"  Stand    back,"    he    demanded,    in 
tones  that  showed  he  would  brook  no 
126 


Kootchle 


interference.  "  Buttons  is  death  on 
cats.  Kootchie  is  death  on  pugs.  You 
like  fun.  I  like  fair  play." 

In  less  than  twenty  seconds  a  crowd 
of  loungers,  newsboys,  nurse-girls,  and 
pedestrians  hurried  to  the  scene.  In 
the  confusion  somebody  thoughtfully 
told  a  policeman  to  ring  for  the 
"  hurry-up  "  wagon.  But  before  it  ar 
rived  the  butler  was  permitted  to  carry 
home  in  his  arms  what  there  was  left 
of  Buttons. 

"  Beat  it,  der  cop!  "  shouted  a  news 
boy,  as  the  butler  picked  up  his  limp 
and  disfigured  companion.  And,  as  the 
crowd  scattered,  every  one  was  amused 
to  see  a  fine,  gray,  stumpy-tailed  cat 
make  its  way  to  the  yellow-haired  little 
maid  on  the  bench. 

As  the  latter  lovingly  stroked  her 

shining    coat    she    remarked    proudly, 

"  Kootchie  is  my  little  pussy  tat.    Papa 

say,  '  Kootchie,  put  Buttons  to  sleep.'  " 

127 


Kootchie 


And  the  policeman  winked  with 
ghoulish  satisfaction  when  the  father 
spoke  up,  "  Kootchie  is  a  nine-jointed 
cyclone.  She's  a  young  California  wild 
cat  a  friend  in  Tiger  Valley  sent  me. 
I'm  fond  of  pets,  you  know,  and  as  she 
felt  a  bit  homesick  this  evening  I 
brought  her  out  here  for  an  airing." 


128 


HER  EYES,  YOUR  HONOR 


129 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


"A  I  ^HE  witness  is  yours." 

I  As  the  prosecuting  attorney 
sat  down,  the  spectators  craned 
their  necks  and  eagerly  leaned  forward. 
Every  one  expected  a  merciless  cross- 
examination,  as  the  reputation  of  the 
young  lawyer,  who  had  been  brought 
two  hundred  miles  to  defend  the  pris 
oner,  had  preceded  him.  And  though 
Delos  McWhorter  had  thus  far  taken 
no  part  in  the  proceedings,  he  was  the 
most  conspicuous  figure  in  the  great 
trial.  One  person  alone  rivaled  him,— 
the  mysterious  woman  who  stood  at  the 
bar,  charged  with  murder.  The  hush 
that  fell  upon  the  packed  court-room 
as  the  man  slowly  rose  to  his  feet  re 
sembled  the  awful  silence  with  which 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


the  death  sentence  is  awaited.  As  he 
stood  silent  and  irresolute  for  a  mo 
ment,  the  color  rising  to  his  plain, 
youthful  face,  his  fingers  nervously 
fumbling  with  a  pencil,  the  spectators 
were  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  disap 
pointment. 

With  almost  boyish  embarrassment, 
his  eye  sought  that  of  the  presiding 
judge ;  next  he  scanned  the  faces  of  the 
jury,  and  then,  turning  to  the  witness, 
in  a  voice  at  once  gentle,  sarcastic,  and 
magnetic,  he  began: 

"  Mr.  Slade,  I  will  trouble  you  to 
look  once  more  very  carefully  at  the 
prisoner.  Perhaps  she  will  rise  that 
you  may  see  her  better.  You  have  tes 
tified  that  shortly  before  eight  on  the 
night  of  the  murder  you  saw  this 
woman  enter  the  apartment  house  of 
which  you  are  the  janitor,  and  in  which 
the  body  of  Charlotte  Ames  was  found. 
Now,  I  would  like  to  have  you  tell  the 
132 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


jury  just  what  it  was  in  the  appearance 
of  the  woman  you  say  you  then  saw 
that  enables  you  to  swear  to-day  that 
she  and  the  prisoner  are  one  and  the 
same  person." 

The  witness,  fearing  a  trap,  hesi 
tated,  and  nervously  eyed  the  lawyer. 

"  I  would  like  you  to  tell  us,"  calmly 
continued  the  questioner,  "  whether 
you  took  such  particular  notice  of  her 
height,  her  face,  her  complexion,  her 
hair,  her  nose,  and  her  teeth  during  the 
few  moments  that  you  say  you  saw  her 
in  the  dimly  lighted  hallway,  four 
months  ago,  as  to  enable  you  to  swear 
to-day  that  you  cannot  be  mistaken. 
Was  it  her  size,  her  apparent  age,  per 
haps,  or  the  color  of  her  hair,  or 
what?  " 

"  It  was  her  looks,"  answered  the 
witness,  squirming  in  his  seat.  "  It's 
the  same  woman." 

Yes,  her  looks;  but  I  must  trouble 


. . 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


you  to  answer  my  question  so  that  the 
jury  may  have  the  whole  truth  before 
they  are  asked  to  send  any  one  to  the 
gallows.  Remember,  Mr.  Slade,  you 
are  under  oath.  Now  tell  us,  what  was 
it?" 

"  We  object,"  came  from  the  prose 
cuting  attorney  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 
66  We  object,  your  honor,  to  this  at 
tempt  to  intimidate  the  witness." 

Before  the  court  could  pass  upon  the 
objection,  the  witness,  turning  from  his 
questioner  to  the  court,  exclaimed  half 
defiantly: 

"  It  was  her  eyes,  your  honor!  " 

"  That  is  all,"  came  from  the  lawyer 
for  the  defence,  as  he  resumed  his  seat ; 
and  the  spectators  relaxed  into  a  con 
dition  of  restlessness  that  clearly 
showed  their  further  disappointment. 

Each  of  the  succeeding  witnesses  de 
clared  without  hesitation  that  the  pris 
oner  was  the  woman  they  had  seen  near 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


the  scene  of  the  murder,  either  just 
before  or  shortly  after  the  deed  was  dis 
covered.  As  one  after  the  other  was 
dismissed  by  the  defence,  upon  insist 
ing  under  cross-examination  that  he 
could  not  possibly  be  mistaken,  the 
faces  of  the  government  counsel  beamed 
with  satisfaction,  while  those  of  the 
spectators  assumed  the  blankness  of 
mystification.  What  was  the  strange 
lawyer  there  for?  they  whispered 
among  themselves,  and  many  turned 
toward  the  prisoner  as  though  to  ascer 
tain  whether  she  realized  how  surely 
her  life  was  being  sworn  away.  In  his 
opening  address  the  prosecuting  attor 
ney  had  said: 

"  On  the  second  day  of  last  Novem 
ber,  a  woman  residing  in  this  town, 
young,  rich,  and  notorious  for  her  gay 
and  reckless  career,  was  found  mur 
dered  in  her  bed  at  half  past  eight  at 
night.  Everything  about  the  room  was 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


in  perfect  order.  There  had  been  no 
robbery,  and  the  instrument  used  was 
found  in  her  breast,  where  it  had  been 
driven  to  the  heart.  It  was  a  gold  or 
nament,  such  as  a  woman  wears  in  her 
hair. 

"  We  shall  not  attempt  to  defend  the 
character  of  the  dead  woman,  but  we 
shall  ask  that  justice  be  done. 

"It  is  true  that  many  a  woman  in 
this  town  had  good  reason  to  wish  the 
murdered  woman  ill.  It  is  true  that 
there  are  men  in  the  community  who 
might  have  been  driven  by  desperate 
hate,  desperate  love,  or  desperate  jeal 
ousy,  to  do  the  deed,  but,  fortunately, 
before  cruel  suspicion  made  any  blun 
der  of  that  sort  the  police  discovered 
the  criminal.  Almost  simultaneously 
with  the  rumors  of  the  murder  came  the 
reports  of  a  mysterious  woman  found 
leaving  the  city.  Within  twelve  hours 
this  woman,  who  now  stands  at  the  bar, 
136 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


had  been  identified  by  no  less  than  four 
people,  who  saw  her  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  scene  of  the  crime  either  before  or 
after  it  was  committed. 

"  No  one  knew  her.  She  refused  to 
give  any  account  of  herself.  She  ap 
peared  to  be  in  a  state  of  great  nervous 
excitement.  The  government  will  show 
that  she  entered  the  house  shortly  be 
fore  the  murder  was  committed;  that 
she  left  it  a  few  minutes  after  the  deed 
was  done;  that  on  the  very  day  of  the 
murder  she  had  high  words  with  the 
dead  woman,  and  that  the  instrument 
with  which  the  deed  was  done  was  such 
an  one  as  the  prisoner  was  known  to 
possess.  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he 
concluded  dramatically,  "  Fate  plays 
no  tricks  of  that  sort.  Fate  fashions 
no  such  chain  of  circumstantial  evi 
dence  as  that  which  establishes  the 
guilt  of  this  woman  and  upon  which  we 
ask  her  conviction." 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


These  were  his  words,  and  now  that 
the  janitor  had  testified  that  he  saw  the 
prisoner  enter  the  building,  a  patrol 
man  had  declared  that  he  saw  her  leav 
ing  it  within  fifteen  minutes  before  the 
crime  was  discovered,  and  the  dead 
woman's  coachman  had  sworn  to  hav 
ing  overheard  the  prisoner  using  threat 
ening  language  to  his  mistress,— after 
this  and  other  circumstantial  evidence 
had  gone  before  the  jury  and  remained 
unshaken  by  cross-examination,  the 
prosecution  announced  that  the  case 
for  the  government  was  in. 

In  spite  of  the  disappointment  with 
which  the  spectators  regarded  Lawyer 
McWhorter,  a  nervous  dread  of  the 
man  possessed  the  minds  of  the  oppos 
ing  counsel,  as  he  rose  slowly  and  delib 
erately  clasped  his  hands  behind  him. 
He  was  so  calm.  His  methods  were  so 
unfathomable  that  they  began  to  feel 
a  vague  conviction  that  he  mastered 

138 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


them  and  their  methods,  while  to  them 
he  was  a  closed  book. 

A  moment  he  stood  silent,  and,  when 
he  spoke,  utter  consternation  fell  upon 
the  court.  The  words  were  the  last 
they  had  expected. 

"  Your  honor,  the  defence  has  no  evi 
dence  to  offer." 

Even  the  court  could  scarce  control 
its  amazement.  Inch  by  inch  the 
ground  upon  which  the  prisoner  stood 
had  been  carried  away,  until  now  noth 
ing  but  the  personal  appeal  of  her 
counsel  could  save  her  life.  Was  this 
possible?  Did  this  young  stranger 
really  possess  that  rare  eloquence,  that 
fatal  magnetism,  that  sometimes  blind 
strong  men  to  all  sense  of  reason  and 
right?  Did  even  he  hope  to  save  his 
client?  His  looks  betrayed  nothing. 
As  he  took  his  seat  his  face  was  that  of 
a  sphinx. 

The  attorney  for  the  government  lost 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


no  time  in  beginning  his  closing  speech. 
"  We  commend  the  judgment  of  the 
distinguished  counsel  for  the  defence," 
he  began,  "  which  deterred  him  from 
attacking  the  overwhelming  proofs  we 
have  submitted  of  the  prisoner's  guilt. 
We  commend  the  keen  judgment  which 
prompts  him  to  rely  upon  the  famed 
magic  of  his  own  voice  rather  than  to 
seek  hope  for  his  client  in  the  uncer 
tain  words  of  unreliable  witnesses. 
The  defence,  too  clever  to  attack  such 
proof  as  we  have  presented,  will  now 
rely  upon  silvery  tongued  oratory  and 
superb  rhetorical  appeals  to  secure 
from  these  twelve  men  a  verdict  of  ac 
quittal.  But,  may  it  please  the  court," 
he  concluded,  "  our  learned  brother 
mistakes  the  intelligence  of  these  gen 
tlemen  of  the  jury,  if  he  supposes,  for 
one  moment,  that  fervent  appeals  to 
their  sympathies  can  make  them  forget 
their  duty  to  themselves,  to  civilized 
140 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


society,  and  to  womankind."  So  well 
satisfied,  however,  had  the  spectators 
become  of  the  prisoner's  guilt,  and  so 
completely  did  all  interest  now  center 
in  McWhorter's  anticipated  speech, 
that  the  remarks  of  the  prosecuting  at 
torney  were  listened  to  with  indifferent 
attention. 

Now,  surely,  the  brilliant  advocate 
would  demonstrate  his  ability,  even 
though  he  could  not  save  his  client. 

"  The  woman,"  he  began,  amid  op 
pressive  silence,  "  who  was  arrested  on 
the  second  day  of  November  last, 
stands  charged  with  murder.  As  no 
testimony  has  been  offered  to  show  that 
she  committed  murder,  the  defence  will 
not  waste  your  time  or  insult  your  com 
mon  sense  by  unnecessary  argument. 
You  have  been  told  with  great  clear 
ness  by  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecu 
tion  that  the  prisoner  was  seen  to  enter 
and  leave  a  certain  house  at  certain 
141 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


hours;  also  that  on  a  certain  day  she 
had  high  words  with  a  certain  woman. 
But,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  under  the 
laws  of  your  State  that  doesn't  consti 
tute  murder.  A  woman  may  pay  a 
visit  to  an  apartment  house  at  eight 
o'clock  at  night,  she  may  have  high 
words  with  another  woman  in  the  pub 
lic  highway,  she  may  even  wear  a  gold 
ornament  in  her  hair, — she  may  do  all 
this  without  becoming  a  murderess. 
The  evidence  adduced  is  purely  circum 
stantial.  No  proof  whatever  has  been 
offered  that  the  accused  woman  killed 
Charlotte  Ames.  In  the  absence  of 
such  testimony,  it  is  your  duty  to  your 
selves,  to  civilized  society,  and  to  wom 
ankind,  to  acquit  the  prisoner."  Be 
fore  the  last  word  was  spoken  he  sat 
down. 

The   entire   court   room   was   again 
taken  by   surprise.     While   the  brief 
speech  had  the  ring  of  cleverness,  it 
142 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


fell  far  short  of  the  general  expecta 
tions. 

After  hearing  the  judge's  charge  to 
the  jury  not  one  person  in  that  vast 
assembly  doubted  the  result.  Few  felt 
any  sympathy  for  the  woman,  and 
those  few  were  men.  The  members  of 
her  own  sex  were  as  a  unit  arrayed 
against  her.  The  pride  of  her  pale 
beauty  antagonized  them.  The  very 
women  who  in  their  hearts  had  wished 
the  dead  girl  ill  and  who  would  have 
committed  the  crime  themselves,  ex 
cept  that  they  lacked  the  courage,  had 
no  pity  for  the  accused.  There  was 
something  in  her  beauty  above  and 
beyond  them,  and,  womanlike,  they 
hated  her  for  it. 

Not  a  soul  left  the  court  room  as  the 
jury  filed  out,  for  all  expected  a  prompt 
verdict.  In  this  they  were  not  disap 
pointed.  Ten  minutes  later  the  twelve 
men  filed  solemnly  back.  Not  an  eye 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


sought  the  face  of  the  prisoner,  who, 
like  her  counsel,  sat  entirely  unmoved. 

As  the  clerk  rose  the  silence  became 
deathlike.  "  Prisoner,  look  upon  the 
jury.  Jury,  look  upon  the  prisoner. 
Have  you  agreed  upon  a  verdict?  " 

"  We  have." 

"  Is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty  or 
not  guilty  of  the  crime  charged  against 
her?" 

"  Guilty." 

With  difficulty  the  demonstrations  of 
approval  that  broke  out  in  every  part 
of  the  room  were  checked  by  the  court 
officers. 

Moved  by  that  inevitable  heart-stop 
ping  vision  of  "  hanged  by  the  neck," 
every  spectator  turned  to  the  hand 
some  woman  in  the  dock. 

The  calmness  with  which  she  re 
ceived  the  stares  of  a  thousand  eyes 
was  marvelous.  No  one  expected  that 
she  would  now  break  her  mysterious 
144 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


silence.  When,  therefore,  she  rose  and 
turned  her  eyes  towards  the  court  the 
spectators  sat  fairly  spellbound  with 
surprise. 

"  May  it  please  your  honor/'  she 
began  in  a  firm,  clear  voice;  then,  lift 
ing  one  slender  white  hand,  she  pointed 
to  the  door  at  the  back  of  the  witness 
stand. 

Every  eye  followed  her  gesture.  A 
tall  female  figure,  heavily  veiled,  ac 
companied  by  one  of  the  associate 
counsel  of  the  defence,  stood  in  the 
doorway.  The  next  moment  she  raised 
her  veil,  advanced  rapidly,  and  took 
her  place  beside  the  prisoner. 

The  scene  that  followed  resembled  a 
street  riot,  rather  than  the  solemn  pro 
ceedings  of  a  court  room.  Men,  wild 
with  excitement,  mounted  their  chairs, 
women  rose  in  their  seats,  pushing, 
jostling,  and  crowding  each  other  in 
their  frantic  efforts  to  get  a  better  view 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


of  the  highly  sensational  proceedings. 
The  confusion  was  indescribable,  the 
noise  deafening.  Not  until  McWhorter 
was  seen  to  spring  to  his  feet  did  the 
court  officers'  vigorous  rapping  and 
loud  cries  for  order  produce  any  effect. 
Instantly  all  was  silence.  Rigid  sus 
pense  held  the  spectators  breathless. 
With  the  light  they  had  missed  in  his 
eye  and  the  fire  they  had  longed  for  in 
his  voice  the  young  lawyer  spoke,  ad 
dressing  the  judge : 

"  May  it  please  the  court,— nice  cus 
toms  must  bow  to  desperate  needs. 
When  a  man  is  called  upon  to  face  in 
defence  of  a  woman's  life  such  odds  as 
I  found  in  this  case,  when  he  sees  jus 
tice  outwitted  by  the  devil's  trick,— 
circumstantial  evidence,  —  he  must  re 
sort  to  the  devil's  weapon,  —  cunning. 
Such  evidence  as  has  been  here  given 
has  hanged  many  a  man,  and  I  believe 
that  when  a  man  of  any  heart,  any  soulj 
146 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


any  chivalry,  sees  that  it  is  likely  to 
hang  a  woman  it  becomes  his  duty  to 
combat  fate  as  the  defence  has  done  in 
this  case. 

"  I  ask  your  honor,  I  ask  the  jury, 
I  ask  the  witnesses,  to  look  upon  these 
two  women.  As  they  stand  there  side 
by  side,  there  is  a  marked  difference 
in  their  heights,  a  decided  difference  in 
the  color  of  their  hair,  a  striking  differ 
ence  in  the  color  of  their  eyes,  a  very 
perceptible  difference,  even  at  this  dis 
tance,  in  the  tone  of  their  skin;  and,  I 
may  add,  a  difference  of  eight  years  in 
their  ages.  The  woman  who  has  just 
been  pronounced  guilty  of  murder  is 
the  wife  of  a  gentleman  who  through 
out  this  trial  has  sat  within  the  shadow 
of  the  jury.  She  is  innocent,  as  God 
is  my  judge.  Every  moment  of  her  life 
up  to  this  very  instant  can  be  accounted 
for.  In  substituting  her  to-day  for  the 
real  prisoner,  the  defence  had  no  desire 
147 


Her  Eyes,  Your  Honor 


to  circumvent  justice.  We  merely 
wished  to  save  this  court,  this  commu 
nity,  from  the  everlasting  shame  of 
hanging  a  woman  whose  guilt  has  not 
been  proved.  We  wished  to  show  to 
your  honor  and  to  these  gentlemen  of 
the  jury  that  it  is  monstrous  to  accept 
as  conclusive  such  evidence  as  has  been 
given  in  this  case.  May  it  please  your 
honor,  this  jury  has  just  pronounced  a 
verdict  of  '  guilty  '  against  my  own 
wife.  I  move  that  here  and  now  this 
verdict  be  set  aside." 

The  request  was  granted,  and,  al 
though  McWhorter  was  charged  with 
unprofessional  conduct  and  threatened 
with  disbarment,  his  client  was 
promptly  acquitted  on  the  new  trial 
which  the  court  ordered. 


148 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  TOODLEUMS 


149 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

"  1W    TOW,  Bert,  listen/'   said  Mrs. 

I  ^^  Rodney,  taking  her  brother 
into  full  confidence.  "  I  want 
to  talk  to  you.  Tom  is  really  the  best 
husband  that  ever  was.  Of  course  I've 
never  had  another  husband,  but  just 
think  how  he  adores  our  baby  —  our 
Toodleums!  " 

Bert  Loring  glanced  at  his  sister's 
face  to  gather  that  the  last  remark  was 
as  a  gold  seal  on  her  husband's  virtues. 
She  was  young,  pretty,  and  winsome. 
She  was  also  Loring 's  only  sister. 
Nevertheless  he  rubbed  his  chin  a  trifle 
doubtfully,  for  Rodney  was  a  sad  fail 
ure  in  a  business  sense. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  returned  at  last. 
"  Since  you  say  so,  I  presume  that  set 
tles  the  matter.  You  ought  to  know, 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

Mary.  Personally,  I've  nothing  against 
Tom." 

"  No,"  she  affirmed  decisively.  "  No 
one  could  help  liking  Tom.  He's  just 
the  most  lovable  fellow  imaginable,  so 
generous  and  kind-hearted  toward 
every  one." 

"  Urn  -  er  -  Oh  yes!  "  nodded  the 
brother.  "  There's  no  question  about 
Tom  *s  generosity. ' J 

He  was  thinking  of  the  last  occasion 
when  he  chanced  upon  Tom  downtown. 
With  great  cordiality  Tom  invited  him 
to  lunch.  It  was  a  capital  lunch,  too, 
nothing  wanting,  only— somehow  Tom 
found  it  was  unfortunately  necessary 
to  borrow  five  dollars  to  pay  for  it. 
He  had  forgotten  to  drop  in  at  his 
bankers,  By  Golly!  That  was  a  joke 
on  Tom,  at  which  he  laughed  in  the 
utmost  good  nature.  His  wife  was 
quite  right  when  she  spoke  of  his 
kindly  disposition  toward  every  one. 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

The  waiter's  smile  bore  witness  to  it, 
when  helping  to  adjust  Tom's  overcoat. 
Loring  went  out  with  his  overcoat  col 
lar  bracing  his  ears.  So  much  for  the 
waiter's  discernment. 

"  But,  you  see,  Bert,"  explained 
Mrs.  Rodney,  "  Tom's  only  drawback 
is  that  he  has  never  been  given  a  chance 
to  prove  what  he  is  really  worth.  He's 
wonderfully  bright." 

"  As  bright  as  a  new  five  dollar  gold 
piece,"  subconsciously  acquiesced  the 
brother.  He  was  still  thinking  of  the 
lunch. 

"  And  ambitious  for  bigger  things," 
added  Mrs.  Rodney. 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  nodded  her 
brother.  It  occurred  to  him  that  Tom 
was  capable  of  ordering  a  mighty  fine 
dinner. 

"  Then,  Bert,  why  don't  you  get  him 
a  pood  position  in  your  insurance  of 
fice?  " 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

"  .What!  "  he  cried.  "  Pardon  me, 
Mary,  I  didn't  quite  —  ' 

"  Hush!  "  she  laid  a  finger  on  her 
lips.  "  Don't  be  so  noisy,  Bert.  You'll 
wake  Toodleums.  Yes,"  she  went  on 
in  an  undertone,  "  a  good  position  in 
your  insurance  office.  One  in  which 
Tom  could  shine  and  Toodleums  feel 
proud  of  his  Dada.  You  know  how 
attached  you  are  to  Toodleums  —  the 
precious!  ' 

"  Yes,  but  you  see,  Mary,"  her 
brother  began  to  protest,  "  the  shining 
positions  in  our  office  are  pretty  well 
all  occupied.  I  don't  glitter  much  yet, 
and  I've  been  years  climbing  up  from 
the  bottom." 

"  But  Tom  is  so  brilliant  —  such 
a  fine  talker,"  declared  Mrs.  Rodney 
enthusiastically.  "If  he  were  once 
given  the  chance  he  would  jump 
right  up  to  the  top.  Everybody  likes 
him." 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

"  Well,  our  president  has  been  pretty 
good  to  me, ' '  he  remarked.  "  I  'd  really 
hate  to  see  him  lose  his  job— I  mean 
within  the  next  few  weeks— even  on 
Tom's  account." 

"  Bert,  don't  be  ridiculous  and  sar 
castic.  Toodleums— the  love— does  not 
like  people  who  are  sarcastic." 

"  No,  probably  not.  But  honestly, 
Mary,  you  must  see  what  I  mean.  If 
I  got  Tom  a  position  in  our  office,  he 
would  have  to  take  his  chance  with  the 
rest.  But,  as  you  say,  he  is  a  good 
talker,  and  might  do  pretty  well  in  out 
side  work." 

"  Then  you  will  introduce  him  to 
your  president?  " 

Her  face  lit  up  with  pride  at  the  suc 
cess  of  her  plan  to  obtain  a  position  for 
her  husband. 

"  I'll  put  him  in  line  to  show  what 
he's  made  of.  That's  all  I  can  promise 
at  present." 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

"  Then  you  may  kiss  Toodleums," 
she  added  by  way  of  great  reward. 

She  rose  and  moved  softly  toward  a 
lace  ruffled  and  beribboned  shrine. 

"  And  be  careful,  Bert,"  she  en 
joined,  "  you  don't  stumble  over  some 
thing  and  wake  the  sweetest.  You  are 
so  clumsy  in  comparison  with  Tom." 

Loring  faithfully  kept  the  promise  to 
his  sister.  He  first  spoke  with  Tom, 
pointing  out  the  excellent  chances  for 
a  good  talker  in  the  insurance  business, 
and  the  agreeable  nature  of  outside 
work.  For  the  right  man  it  might  lead 
to  the  confidence  of  millionaires,  and 
the  friendship  of  United  States  Sena 
tors.  Tom  was  quite  enthusiastic. 

"  Just  the  thing,"  he  cried,  slapping 
Loring  on  the  shoulder.  "  The  very 
position  I've  been  looking  for.  Don't 
worry  about  the  beginning  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  ladder  idea.  I'll  climb  up 
hand  over  fist.  You  watch  me." 
156 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

So  Loring  introduced  his  brother-in- 
law  to  the  chief  of  the  proper  depart 
ment,  and  with  him  Tom  talked  with 
much  enthusiasm  of  purpose.  He  was 
finally  told  to  report  the  next  morning, 
when  full  instructions  would  be  given. 
He  was  in  such  high  feather  on  the  way 
home  that  he  bought  a  silver  rattle  for 
Toodleums—  on  credit. 

His  conference  with  the  chief  of  his 
department  the  next  morning  was  sat 
isfactory  in  all  respects.  He  appeared 
to  grasp  quickly  the  details  of  the  vari 
ous  insurance  policies,  and  spoke  con 
fidently  of  what  he  intended  to  do  with 
the  list  of  prominent  citizens  he  was 
instructed  to  call  upon. 

"  Mr.  Vandermorgan.  Sure!  I'll 
touch  him  for  a  one  hundred  thousand 
dollar  policy  right  away.  If  I  clean 
him  up  before  lunch,  I  guess  that  would 
be  doing  something." 

I  guess  it  would,"  agreed  the  chief, 


" 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

who  knew  how  for  many  months  they 
had  fished  unsuccessfully  for  Mr.  Van- 
dermorgan. 

So  Tom  gathered  up  his  papers  and 
strode  briskly  out  of  the  office.  He 
took  the  elevator  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  talked  in  nothing  less  than  six  fig 
ures.  Then  he  went  out  and  walked 
around  the  block.  When  he  came  back 
to  the  majestic  portals  of  the  Long  Life 
Building  he  paused  to  reflect.  An  idea 
seemed  to  occur  to  him.  That  it  was 
a  corking  idea,  the  pleased  expression 
on  his  face  indicated.  He  again  took 
the  elevator,  and  was  shot  up  to  the 
floor  on  which  his  brother-in-law's  of 
fice  was  located. 

"  Hello,  Bert!  "  he  greeted,  looking 
in  at  the  door. 

"  Hello,  Tom!  How's  business?  How 
are  you  getting  along?  ' 

"  Pine!  Just  going  out  to  tackle 
Vandermorgan. ' ' 

158 


. . 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

Good!  Hope  you  11  land  him." 
Yes,"  Tom  proceeded,  drawing  a 
chair  up  to  his  brother-in-law's  desk, 
and  spreading  out  his  papers.  "  But 
I  thought  I'd  have  a  talk  with  you 
first." 

"  Well,  go  ahead.  Glad  to  help  out 
in  any  way  possible." 

"  Yes,  that's  just  what  I  thought. 
Now,  see  here,  Bert,  how  about  your 
taking  out  one  of  our  ten-thousand-dol 
lar  policies?  " 

"  What!  "  cried  Loring,  falling  back 
in  his  chair.  "  Man  alive!  What  on 
earth  do  I  want  with  a  ten-thousand- 
dollar  policy?  " 

"  That's  the  point.  That's  just  what 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  about,"  argued 
Tom  complacently.  "  Every  man 
ought  to  provide  for  the  comfort  and 
happiness  of  his  wife  after  his  death. 
That's  about  how  the  chief  said  I  might 
begin. 


" 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

"  But  you  know  I  haven't  got  a 
wife, "protested  Loring. 

"  Well,  that  doesn't  alter  the  case. 
Those  near  and  dear  to  you  will  do  as 
well,"  went  on  Tom  sympathetically. 
"  Those  attached  to  you  by  the  strong 
est  ties." 

"  By  the  strongest  ties?  "  questioned 
Loring. 

"  Sure!  There  are  Mary  and  little 
Toodleums.  As  you  are  going  to  be 
Toodleums'  godfather  do  it  for  the  sake 
of  Toodleums.  I'll  just  fill  out  an  ap 
plication  in  his  favor.  Of  course  we'd 
hate  for  anything  unfortunate  to  hap 
pen  to  you,  but  every  man  should  make 
a  suitable  provision  for  those  who  are 
dear  to  him.  The  chief  said  that  phrase 
usually  catches  on." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  hanged!  "  ejaculated 
Loring. 

"  I  sincerely  hope  not,"  fervently 
added  Tom,  as  he  prepared  to  fill  out 
1 60 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

an  application  blank.  "  Shall  we  make 
it  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  dollars?  " 
he  asked,  looking  up  calmly. 

"  Make  it  five  and  then  go  and  chase 
Vandermorgan,"  retorted  Loring,  fear 
ful  that  worse  might  happen. 

"  All  right.  Five  thousand  dollars  in 
favor  of  Toodleums.  See  you  later, 
Bert,"  and  with  a  smile  Tom  strolled 
out  of  Loring 's  office  to  deposit  the 
signed  application  with  the  proper 
clerk.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  drew  a 
pad  and  pencil  from  his  pocket,  and 
began  figuring. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  exclaimed,  "  not  a 
bad  beginning!  My  commission  on 
that  policy  is  just  forty-one  dollars  and 
I  landed  it  in  less  than  an  hour.  That's 
three  hundred  and  twenty-eight  dol 
lars  a  day,  one  thousand  nine  hundred 
and  sixty-eight  dollars  a  week,  and—" 

His  calculations  were  interrupted  by 
Dick  Willman,  who  grasped  his  hand 
161 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

and  inquired:  "  How 're  you  getting 
on,  Tom,  and  where  are  you  bound  for? 
Bert  tells  me  you've  taken  up  life  in 


surance." 


"  Congratulate  me,  old  fellow.  This 
very  morning  I  dropped  into  a  berth 
that  pays  me  a  hundred  thousand  a 
year.  I'm  through  for  to-day  and  am 
off  for  home  to  tell  my  wife.  So  long  ' 
— and  Tom  was  gone. 

He  had  not  yet  reached  the  elevator 
when  he  turned,  called  back  to  his 
friend,  and  going  up  to  him,  his  face 
still  wreathed  in  smiles,  confided: 
"  Dick,  in  my  hurry  to  get  down  to 
business  this  morning  I  came  away 
without  even  car  fare.  Loan  me  a  five. 
Ah,  thank  you.  And  come  have  a  bird 
and  a  bottle  with  me  at  the  club  to 
morrow.  Bye-bye,"  and  once  more 
Tom  was  on  his  way  to  carry  the  news 
to  Mary. 

"  I  knew  it  and  always  told  people 
162 


For  the  Sake  of  Toodleums 

you  would  make  good  if  you  only  had 
half  a  chance,"  interrupted  his  wife, 
as  Tom  triumphantly  related  his  morn 
ing's  success  to  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  agreed  the  husband.  "  I 
know  how  to  get  there  all  right.  By 
the  way,  how's  Toodleums  and  how 
does  he  like  his  new  rattle?  " 


163 


IN   HELL'S   CANON 


165 


In  Hell's  Canon 


ADVENTUROUS  prospectors 
who  have  followed  the  perilous 
trails  over  the  Cabinet  Moun 
tains  have,  as  a  matter  of  course,  heard 
of  the  Lost  Lead,  but  only  he  who  is 
a  total  stranger  to  fear  has  penetrated 
the  chaotic  wilderness  of  Hell's  Canon, 
and  thus  come  suddenly  upon  the 
Grave  of  Gold.  Four  rude  granite 
posts,  connected  by  heavy  log  chains, 
enclose  the  spot.  On  the  face  of  the 
giant  bowlder  that  stands  guard  over 
the  few  square  feet  of  sacred  earth  is 
carved: 


THE  LOST  LEAD. 
LOUIS    GILBERT. 

186Q-1891. 


This  inscription  marks  the  loneliest, 
yet  richest,  grave  in  the  world. 
167 


In  Hell's  Canon 


Late  in  the  spring  of  -1889,  Louis  Gil 
bert  left  his  home  in  Kentucky  for  a 
visit  to  his  uncle's  mine  in  the  North 
west.  He  had  lung  trouble,  and  the 
doctor  had  ordered  an  outdoor  life. 
While  his  health  improved,  he  became 
infected  with  another  ailment,  perhaps 
the  only  one  to  be  caught  at  that  alti 
tude—the  gold  fever.  Miners  were  his 
only  associates,  the  talk  was  all  of 
lodes,  leads  and  drifts,  and  the  only 
communication  with  the  outside  world 
was  by  the  train  of  pack  mules  that 
carried  the  heavy  ore  sacks  down  the 
winding  trail.  So  it  was  not  sumrising 
that  his  walks  took  the  charaH-er  of 
prospecting  tours,  and  carried  him  far 
ther  and  farther  from  camp.  Late  in 
October,  when  his  visit  was  nearlv 
over,  he  started  with  three  days'  food 
for  a  last  trip,  into  new  territorv. 
From  a  conical  mountain  top  about  ten 
miles  west  of  the  mine,  he  had  looked 
168 


In  Hell's  Canon 


over  a  lower  range  of  summits  to  a 
great  expanse  of  wild  and  broken  coun 
try  that  he  had  never  explored. 

The  weather  was  like  summer  when 
he  started,  but  thirty-six  hours  later, 
on  the  evening  of  the  second  day,  a 
fierce  snowstorm  set  in.  By  midnight, 
the  first  blizzard  of  the  season  was 
raging  through  the  mountains.  On  the 
third  day  the  storm  still  howled  furi 
ously,  but  searching  parties  were  sent 
out  with  a  faint  hope  of  finding  the 
young  prospector  before  the  trails  be 
came  entirely  impassable.  In  the  dim 
twilight  of  the  afternoon  they  returned 
one  by  one,  almost  worn  out,  convinced 
that  the  body  of  the  missing  man  would 
not  be  found  till  the  warm  winds  of 
spring  should  melt  away  the  drifts. 
Yet,  as  a  humane  precaution,  lights 
were  kept  burning  all  night  in  cabin 
windows,  and,  guided  by  one  of  them, 
Louis  Gilbert  staggered  into  camp  and 
169 


In  Hell's  Canon 


fell  like  a  dead  man  before  the  mess- 
room  door.  He  was  taken  from  the 
snow,  wrapped  in  blankets  and  laid  be 
fore  a  blazing  fire.  When  he  showed 
signs  of  life  he  was  given  hot  drinks 
and  put  to  bed.  His  prospector's  belt 
dropped  to  the  floor  like  lead,  and  when 
opened  was  found  to  be  stuffed  with 
nuggets  of  virgin  gold. 

In  the  fever  that  followed,  Gilbert 
talked  deliriously  of  his  long  struggle 
through  the  blinding  drifts,  hungry, 
cold  and  aching  for  the  sleep  which 
would  mean  death,  yet  forcing  himself 
onward  with  the  blizzard  at  his  back 
as  his  only  guide.  The  amazing  rich 
ness  of  his  find  had  given  him  the 
strength  that  saved  his  life. 

Finally  he  opened  his  eyes  with  the 
old  look  and  told  in  detail  the  story  of 
his  wonderful  discovery.  On  the  east 
side  of  a  stream,  in  a  canon  so  terribly 
wild  and  broken  that  it  was  almost 
170 


In  Hell's  Canon 


impassable,  he  had  found  the  gold  on 
the  very  surface  of  a  ledge. 

Filling  his  belt,  he  had  started  to 
blaze  his  way  back,  when  the  storm 
came  down  with  frightful  violence. 
The  rest  of  the  journey  was  simply  a 
horrible  nightmare. 

As  nothing  could  be  done  while  the 
snow  lasted,  Gilbert  returned  to  Ken 
tucky  for  the  winter,  yet  could  think 
of  nothing  but  his  discovery.  He  had 
found  a  fortune,  had  even  put  his  hands 
upon  it,  and  knew  it  was  his  whenever 
he  could  stake  off  his  claim  and  take 
possession.  He  spent  his  time  in  ma 
king  a  chart  of  the  stream  he  had  fol 
lowed  on  which  he  set  down  every  de 
tail  he  could  recall  of  the  eastern  bank, 
along  which  he  had  travelled. 

Early  the  following  spring  he  was 
back  at  his  uncle's  mine,  waiting  impa 
tiently  for  the  snow  to  melt  and  be 
carried  away  by  the  swollen  streams. 
171 


In  Hell's  Canon 


Finally,  after  a  tedious  delay,  he  set 
out  with  a  small  party  of  miners  all 
eager  to  have  a  hand  in  locating  the 
rich  prospect. 

"  Hell's  Canon!  "  exclaimed  the  fore 
man,  as,  skirting  Cone  Top  Mountain, 
Gilbert  pointed  out  the  way.  One  of 
the  men,  a  Mexican,  declined  to  go  any 
farther  with  the  party,  and  the  fore 
man  explained  to  the  wondering  Gil 
bert: 

"  The  Mexicans  give  Hell's  Canon  a 
wide  berth.  They  say  that  one  of  them 
found  a  big  treasure  there,  and  then 
lost  it  and  his  life  in  some  uncanny 
way.  They  found  his  bones  though, 
next  summer.  Knew  'em  by  his  divi 
ning  rod,  that  he  clung  to  even  in 
death." 

On  the  second  day  Gilbert  and  his 

companions  found  the   stream,  which 

fought  its  way  among  the  upturned 

rocks,  cavernous  gorges  and  fallen  logs. 

172 


In  Hell's  Canon 


At  the  sight  of  it  Gilbert  eagerly  led 
the  search  along  the  east  bank,  and 
every  spot  was  carefully  searched.  But 
the  bowlder,  the  two  dead  trees  — 
every  other  characteristic  landmark  on 
Gilbert's  chart  —  could  not  be  found. 
All  search  was  vain.  The  map  was 
not  that  of  the  locality  they  were 
in  —  as  Gilbert  himself  was  obliged  to 
admit. 

During  that  summer  Gilbert  led  out 
four  other  searching  parties,  but  never 
got  any  nearer  the  lost  lead.  Then  he 
again  went  South  for  the  winter. 
When  he  next  returned  it  was  with  a 
flushed  cheek  that  contrasted  horribly 
with  his  pale,  pinched  look  and  stead 
ily  failing  strength.  In  spite  of  all  dis 
appointments,  he  was  still  hopeful,  and 
to  humor  him  his  uncle's  miners  occa 
sionally  made  excursions  into  the  maze 
of  peaks  and  gulches. 

One  morning,  late  in  the  season,  Gil- 


In  Hell's  Canon 


bert  asked  for  one  more  chance  to  solve 
the  mystery  of  Hell's  Canon.  He  had 
had  a  dream,  he  said  enthusiastically, 
that  this  time  he  would  be  successful. 
The  miners  did  not  put  much  faith  in 
dreams,  but,  for  his  uncle's  sake,  and 
because  it  was  recalled  that  this  was 
the  second  anniversary  of  the  great  dis 
covery,  they  made  up  a  party  and 
started  out  in  the  usual  direction.  Al 
though  they  moved  slowly,  the  young 
man's  feebleness  increased  until  it  be 
came  necessary  to  carry  him  on  a  litter 
made  of  boughs.  This  delayed  them 
even  more,  and  it  was  late  on  the  third 
day  before  they  reached  the  stream. 
At  the  sight  of  the  dashing  water,  Gil 
bert's  strength  appeared  to  rally,  and, 
sitting  up,  he  directed  them  to  cross 
to  the  west  bank.  At  this  strange  or 
der  the  bearers  exchanged  significant 
glances  and  called  the  rest  of  the  party. 
The  all  believed  that  with  a  brief  re- 


In  Hell's  Canon 


turn  of  physical  strength  the  young 
man's  mind  had  broken  down.  The 
one  point  on  which  he  had  always  been 
most  positive  —  that  the  vein  was  on 
the  eastern  bank  of  the  stream  —  he 
had  now  abandoned.  It  was  evident  to 
them  that  the  lost  lead  would  never  be 
found. 

But  it  was  time  to  camp  for  the 
night,  and  the  west  bank  was  much 
more  sheltered.  With  much  difficulty, 
bracing  themselves  against  the  stones, 
they  carried  the  litter  across  the  swift 
current.  Selecting  a  site  sheltered  by 
a  huge  bowlder,  the  men  sent  in  ad 
vance  to  pitch  camp  began  with  picks 
to  clear  a  spot  for  the  tent.  With  a 
ring  that  could  not  be  mistaken  the 
steel  struck  the  rock.  The  men  gave  a 
great  cheer.  Gilbert  raised  himself  on 
his  litter  when  it  was  brought  up,  and 
gazed  excitedly  at  the  great  bowlder 
and  its  surroundings,  which  had  come 


In  Hell's  Canon 


to  him  so  vividly  in  that  prophetic 
death-dream  —  his  last  on  earth. 

"  The  Lost  Lead!  "  he  cried  in  a  tri 
umphant  tone,  and  then  adding  in  a 
weak  voice,  "  Bury  me  here,  bo;fs,"  he 
sank  back  —  dead. 

Spring  freshets  had  changed  the  tor 
rent's  course,  and  the  east  ~barik  had 
become  the  west! 

They  buried  Louis  Gilbert  with  the 
treasure  he  had  never  possessed,  and 
while  the  rich  mine  became  known  in 
financial  circles  as  "  The  Lost  Lead," 
yet  old  miners  themselves  speak  of  it 
only  as  "  The  Grave  of  Gold." 


176 


THE  MYSTERY  OP  THE  THIRTY 
MILLIONS 


177 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions1 

AT  eight  o'clock  on  the  morning 
of  March  14,  the  Anglo-Ameri 
can  liner,  the  Oklahoma,  left 
her  dock  in  North  River  on  her  regular 
trip  to  Southampton. 

The  fact  of  her  departure,  ordinarily 
of  merely  local  interest,  was  tele 
graphed  all  over  the  United  States  and 
Canada,  and  even  to  London  itself;  for 
there  was  a  significance  attached  to 
this  particular  trip  such  as  had  never 
before  marked  the  sailing  of  an  ocean 
steamship  from  these  shores. 

It  was  not  because  the  great  vessel 
numbered  among  her  crowd  of  passen 
gers  a  well-known  English  duke  and 
his  young  bride,  the  grand-niece  of  a 

1  This  story  was  written  in  collaboration  with  T.  F. 
Anderson. 

179 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

world-famous  New  York  railroad  mag 
nate,  that  her  sailing  was  heralded  by 
such  a  blowing  of  trumpets,  nor  be 
cause  she  also  had  upon  her  lists  the 
names  of  the  august  British  ambassa 
dor  to  the  United  States,  returning 
home  on  a  brief  furlough,  the  noted 
French  tragedian,  fresh  from  his  Amer 
ican  triumphs,  and  a  score  of  other 
illustrious  personages  whose  names 
were  household  words  in  a  dozen  coun 
tries. 

The  presence  of  all  these  notables 
was  merely  incidental.  What  made 
this  trip  of  the  Oklahoma  an  event  of 
international  interest  was  the  fact  that 
at  this,  the  apparent  climax  of  the 
great  gold  exporting  movement  from 
the  United  States,  now  continued  until 
it  had  almost  drained  the  national 
treasury  of  its  precious  yellow  hoard, 
and  had  precipitated  a  commercial 
crisis  such  as  never  before  had  been 
1 80 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

experienced,  the  Oklahoma  was  taking 
to  the  shores  of  insatiate  John  Bull  the 
largest  lump  amount  of  gold  ever 
shipped  upon  a  single  vessel  within  the 
memory  of  man. 

Not  even  in  the  memorable  gold 
exporting  year  of  1893  had  any  such 
sum  as  this  been  sent  abroad  at  one 
time. 

It  was  not  the  usual  paltry  half  mil 
lion  or  million  dollars  that  she  was  car 
rying  away  in  her  great  strong  room 
of  steel  and  teak  wood,  but  thirty  mil 
lion  dollars'  worth  of  shining  eagles 
and  glinting  bars,  hastily  called  across 
the  ocean  because  of  the  adverse  "  bal 
ance  of  trade  "  and  the  temporary  mis 
trust  of  American  securities  by  the 
fickle  Europeans. 

The  mere  insurance  premium  on  this 

vast  sum  was  in  itself  a  comfortable 

fortune.    Business  men  wondered  why 

such  a  large  amount  was  intrusted  to 

181 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

one  steamer.  Suppose  she  should  col 
lide  in  the  fog  and  sink,  as  one  great 
ship  had  done  only  a  few  weeks  before 
—what  would  become  of  the  insurance 
companies  then? 

Suppose  some  daring  Napoleon  of 
crime  should  hatch  a  startling  con 
spiracy  to  seize  the  steamer,  intimidate 
the  crew  and  passengers,  and  possess 
himself  of  the  huge  treasure?  "  It 
would  be  a  stake  well  worth  long 
risks,"  thought  some  of  the  police  offi 
cials,  as  they  read  the  headlines  in  the 
evening  papers. 

The  Oklahoma  was  a  fast  sailer.  Her 
five  hundred  feet  of  length  and  her 
twelve  thousand  tons  of  displacement 
were  made  light  work  of  by  the  great 
clanking,  triple-expansion  engines 
when  their  combined  force  of  fifteen 
thousand  horse  power  was  brought  to 
bear  upon  her  twin  screws.  Under 
ordinary  conditions  she  ought  to  have 
182 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

made  port  on  the  other  side  in  time  to 
let  her  passengers  eat  late  dinner  on 
the  sixth  day  out.  Incoming  steamers 
reported  a  brief  spell  of  nasty  weather 
in  mid-ocean,  however,  and  so  her  fail 
ure  to  reach  Southampton  on  the  sixth 
and  even  the  seventh  day  was  not  par 
ticularly  remarked. 

The  great  American  public  had  been 
busy  with  other  weighty  matters  in  the 
interim,  including  a  threatened  seces 
sion  of  the  silver-producing  States;  and 
the  departure  of  this  modern  argosy 
with  her  precious  freight  had  almost 
passed  into  history.  For  history  in 
that  year  was  anything  that  had  hap 
pened  farther  than  a  week  back  —  a 
day,  if  it  was  not  of  overwhelming  im 
portance. 

If  the  big  ship's  arrival  had  been  ca 
bled  on  the  eighth  day,  or  even  early 
on  the  ninth,  it  would  still  have  found 
the  public  in  a  comparatively  calm 
183 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

state  of  mind,  for  the  mid-Atlantic 
storm  would  naturally  account  for  a 
multitude  of  lost  hours;  but  when  the 
ninth  lapped  over  onto  the  tenth  and 
the  tenth  onto  the  eleventh  and  twelfth, 
with  no  tidings  of  the  tardy  steamer, 
surprise  grew  into  anxiety  and  anxiety 
into  an  international  sensation. 

Of  course  all  sorts  of  plausible  the 
ories  were  advanced  by  the  steamship 
agents,  the  newspapers,  and  other  ora 
cles,  including  that  of  the  inevitable 
broken  shaft;  and  these  might  have 
sufficed  for  a  day  or  two  longer  had  it 
not  been  for  another  and  much  more 
startling  theory  that  suddenly  came  to 
the  surface  and  threw  two  continents 
into  a  fever  of  trepidation  and  sus 
pense. 

It  was  the  following  announcement 

in  a  leading  New  York  morning  paper 

that  roused  excitement  to  fever  heat: 

"  A  new  and  most  astounding  phase 

184 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

has  come  over  the  case  of  the  mysteri 
ously  missing  Oklahoma.  It  has  just 
been  given  out  from  police  headquar 
ters  that  '  Gentleman  Jim  '  Langwood, 
the  noted  cracksman  and  forger,  whose 
ten  years'  sentence  at  Sing  Sing  ex 
pired  only  a  few  weeks  ago,  was  in  the 
city  several  days  previous  to  the  sail 
ing  of  the  Oklahoma  and  went  with 
her  as  a  passenger,  under  an  assumed 
name.  Even  at  that  very  time  the  cen 
tral  office  detectives  were  looking  for, 
him,  as  a  tip  had  been  sent  around  that 
he  was  up  to  some  new  deviltry.  One 
of  those  clever  people  whom  nothing 
ever  escapes  had  seen  him  go  aboard 
almost  at  the  last  minute,  and  gave  an 
accurate  description  of  his  personal  ap 
pearance,  which  was  evidently  but 
slightly  disguised. 

"  Langwood    is    probably    the    only 
criminal  in  the  country  who  would  ever 
conceive  and  try  to  execute  such  a  stu- 
185 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

pendous  undertaking,  and  it  is  some 
thing  more  than  a  suspicion  on  the  part 
of  the  New  York  police  that  he  has 
smuggled  on  board  a  couple  of  dozen 
well-armed  desperadoes,  who  could  eas 
ily  hold  the  entire  crew  and  passengers 
in  check  and  make  them  do  their  bid 
ding,  for  a  time,  at  least.  The  idea  is 
so  replete  with  thrilling  possibilities 
that  the  entire  community  stands 
aghast  at  it." 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  public  al 
ways  "  stands  aghast  "  in  such  a  case 
as  this;  but  it  is  more  to  the  point  just 
now  to  say  that  the  article  went  on, 
through  a  column  or  more,  to  describe 
in  minute  detail  the  circumstances  at 
tendant  upon  the  departure  of  "  Gen 
tleman  Jim  "  even  to  the  number  and 
shape  of  the  bundles  he  had  in  his  arms. 
The  famous  robber  was  very  boyish  in 
appearance,  and  one  of  the  last  persons 
in  the  world  whom  a  chance  acquaint- 
186 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

ance  would  think  of  looking  up  in  the 
rogues'  gallery.  Evidently  he  was 
"  out  for  the  stuff/'  in  most  approved 
stage  villain  style,  with  more  millions 
in  the  stake  than  even  Colonel  Sellers, 
of  nineteenth  century  fame,  had  ever 
dreamed  of.  Of  course  this  theory, 
which  was  already  accepted  as  a  fact, 
especially  in  police  and  newspaper  cir 
cles,  was  quickly  cabled  across,  and 
created  such  a  profound  sensation  on 
the  other  side  that  even  the  London 
papers  had  to  give  it  that  prominent 
position  which  is  usually  reserved  for 
American  cyclones,  crop  failures,  and 
labor  outbreaks. 

Upon  the  phlegmatic  British  govern 
ment  it  acted  much  like  an  electric 
shock  and  nearly  threw  the  foreign  of 
fice  into  a  panic;  for  was  not  the  Brit 
ish  minister  plenipotentiary  himself  a 
passenger  on  the  ill-fated  Oklahoma, 
and  possibly  at  that  very  hour  being 
187 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

butchered  in  cold  blood  by  a  lot  of 
Yankee  cut-throats^ 

The  thought  was  too  horrible  for  a 
moment's  endurance,  and  forthwith  the 
cablegrams  began  to  flash  thick  and 
fast  between  the  foreign  office  and  the 
British  legation  at  Washington. 

The  result  was  that,  within  a  few 
hours  after  the  appearance  of  the  para 
graph,  one  of  the  fastest  and  most  pow 
erful  of  her  majesty's  cruisers,  quickly 
followed  by  a  second  and  a  third,  ha 
stily  steamed  from  Portsmouth  Roads, 
the  three  spreading  out  north,  west, 
and  south,  like  a  great  marine  fan, 
as  they  hurried  to  the  rescue  of  the 
Oklahoma  and  the  British  ambassa 
dor. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  Boston,  Brooklyn, 
and  League  Island  navy  yards  three  or 
four  of  Uncle  Sam's  white  war  dogs 
were  getting  up  steam  for  a  similar 
errand,  and  a  small  fleet  of  ocean-going 
188 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

• 
steamers,  specially  chartered  by  New 

York,  Boston,  and  Chicago  newspapers 
to  go  in  search  of  the  absent  leviathan, 
were  already  threading  their  way 
through  the  Narrows. 

Not  for  years  had  there  been  such 
world-wide  interest  in  an  ocean  expe 
dition.  The  newspapers  commanded 
an  unheard  of  sale,  for  everybody  was 
on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation  concern 
ing  the  fate  of  the  missing  steamer,  her 
six  hundred  passengers  and  her  thirty 
millions  of  gold. 

While  the  public  was  thus  feverishly 
awaiting  the  news,  certain  discoveries 
were  being  made  by  the  New  York  po 
lice,  which  only  went  to  confirm  their 
previous  suspicions.  Four  or  five  other 
hardened  graduates  from  state  prison 
were  found  to  be  absent  from  their 
accustomed  haunts  in  the  East  Side 
slums,  although  known  to  have  been  in 
the  city  just  before  the  Oklahoma 
189 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

sailed,  as  was  "  Gentleman  Jim/'  him 
self. 

These  discoveries  had  their  natural 
effect  upon  the  public  mind,  and  the 
friends  of  those  on  board  the  steamer 
began  to  despair  of  hearing  that  even 
human  life  had  been  respected  by  the 
piratical  band. 

As  to  the  British  foreign  office,  this 
cumulative  evidence  threw  it  into  a 
perfect  frenzy,  and  it  was  only  by  a 
miracle  that  a  declaration  of  war 
against  the  United  States  was  averted. 

Three  days  passed  by  after  the  de 
parture  of  the  big  searching  fleets,  dur 
ing  which  time  all  incoming  steamers 
reported  that  they  had  not  found  a 
single  trace  of  the  Oklahoma  either  in 
the  northern  or  southern  route.  Ves 
sels  from  the  Mediterranean,  the  West 
Indies,  South  America,  all  made  the 
same  ominous  report. 

The  tension  was  terrible.  Thousands 
190 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

could  not  even  sleep  on  account  of  the 
mental  strain,  and  the  minds  of  some 
of  the  weaker  actually  gave  way  be 
neath  it.  The  public  by  this  time  was 
convinced  beyond  a  reasonable  shadow 
of  doubt  that  the  robbers  had  success 
fully  carried  out  their  fiendish  plan; 
but  how?  and  when?  and  where? 

When  they  opened  their  newspapers 
on  the  morning  of  the  eighteenth  day 
of  suspense,  they  found  the  answer  to 
the  question,  and  the  greatest  marine 
mystery  of  centuries  was  solved. 

In  the  small  hours  of  the  night  there 
had  flashed  across  the  European  con 
tinent,  and  under  the  dark  waters  of 
the  Atlantic,  this  startling  message 
from  the  representative  of  the  Union 
Press  Association:— 

"  Lisbon,  April  1,  —  The  missing  Ok 
lahoma  is  disabled  at  Fayal,  Azores, 
where  she  was  discovered  by  the  Union 
Press  special  expedition.  Many  of  the 
191 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

half-starved  crew  and  passengers  are 
on  the  verge  of  insanity.  The  officers 
tell  a  most  astounding  story  of  the 
steamer's  exciting  and  almost  fatal 
adventures.  On  the  third  night  out, 
the  Oklahoma  suddenly  came  under 
some  mysterious  but  irresistible  influ 
ence  by  which  she  was  carried  rapidly 
out  of  her  course  towards  the  south. 
Every  effort  was  made  by  the  officers 
to  bring  the  ship  back  to  her  course, 
but  the  big  liner  seemed  drifting  help 
lessly  at  the  mercy  of  some  powerful 
current.  The  compasses  were  useless, 
and  the  wheel  no  longer  exercised  the 
slightest  control  over  the  steamer's 
movements. 

"  Naturally  the  anxiety  of  the  offi 
cers  was  in  no  way  diminished  when  on 
the  morning  of  the  next  day,  which  was 
then  the  fourth  day  out,  another  ves 
sel,— a  long  low-setting  craft  of  shining 
steel,  —  was  discovered  off  the  Okla- 
192 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

liomcCs  starboard  bow,  about  a  mile 
ahead,  but  moving  in  the  same  direc 
tion.  By  careful  observations  it  was 
discovered  that  the  course  of  the  two 
steamers  was  identical.  Both  were  ap 
parently  under  the  same  mysterious  in 
fluence.  Instead  of  sighting  a  rescuer, 
the  Oklahoma  had,  so  it  seemed,  only 
discovered  another  victim  of  the  irre 
sistible  current! 

"  Time  and  again  the  Oklahoma  at 
tempted  to  signal  the  companion  ship, 
but  the  latter  made  no  reply.  Close 
observation  revealed  that  she  was  built 
on  the  whaleback  principle,  with  noth 
ing  above  decks  save  ventilators  and 
signal  mast,  —  but  failed  to  discover 
any  sign  of  human  beings. 

"  By  afternoon  their  continued  fail 
ure  to  bring  the  liner  back  to  her  course 
had  so  wrought  upon  the  minds  of  her 
officers  that  their  anxiety  infected  the 
spirits  of  the  passengers,  who  were 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

now  aroused  to  the  real  danger  that 
menaced  them. 

"  When  the  fifth  day  dawned,  with 
the  Oklahoma  hundreds  of  miles  out  of 
the  regular  transatlantic  course,  the 
gravity  of  the  situation  could  no  longer 
be  concealed.  Distress  signals  were 
kept  flying,  and  all  possible  steam  was 
put  on  with  the  idea  of  overhauling  the 
companion  ship  and  giving  or  receiv 
ing  aid.  To  the  amazement  of  both 
officers  and  passengers,  however,  in 
spite  of  every  effort,  the  Oklahoma 
failed  to  gain  a  single  inch  on  the  other 
vessel.  Before  they  had  time  to  at 
tempt  an  explanation  of  this  remark 
able  fact,  amazement  gave  way  to  con 
sternation.  For  just  a  moment  a  third 
vessel  had  appeared  on  the  horizon  like 
a  messenger  of  hope;  but  no  sooner 
had  she  been  sighted  than  with  the 
swiftness  of  lightning  the  mysterious 
companion  craft  turned  half  around 
194 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

and  darted  away  to  the  southeast,  with 
the  Oklahoma  following  as  helplessly 
as  though  she  were  in  tow. 

"  In  that  moment  the  awful  truth 
was  revealed.  The  steel  vessel  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  floating 
loadstone,  which  by  some  mysterious 
power  was  dragging  the  great  ocean 
monster  hither  and  thither  as  easily  as 
a  magnet  draws  a  toy  ship  from  one 
side  to  the  other  of  a  mimic  pond ! 

"  Who  was  she,  and  what  was  her 
motive?  Almost  before  those  on  board 
had  asked  the  question,  the  answer 
flashed  upon  them.  The  thirty  millions 
of  gold!  Beyond  a  doubt,  it  was  their 
capture  which  she  was  planning  to  ac 
complish,  either  by  luring  the  OMah 
Jioma  from  the  regular  path  of  ocean 
travel,  and  looting  her  and  her  pas 
sengers  at  leisure,  or  by  compelling  her 
to  run  aground  upon  some  remote  rock 
or  shoal. 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

"  With  this  revelation  a  new  horror 
unveiled  itself.  Equipped  as  they  were 
only  with  the  supplies  for  a  short  trip 
across  the  Atlantic,  the  overwrought 
minds  of  many  saw  starvation  loom 
ing  up  before  them.  That  night  not 
a  soul  sought  his  berth.  From  time 
to  time  consultations  were  held  be 
tween  the  chief  officers,  and  many- 
colored  rockets  spit  and  blazed  their 
signals  of  distress  incessantly  across 
the  sky. 

"  At  length,  soon  after  dawn  of  the 
sixth  day,  orders  were  given  to  bank 
fires  and  hoist  sail  in  the  hope  that  the 
Oklahoma  as  a  sailing  vessel  might  free 
herself  from  the  awful  influence  that 
chained  her. 

"  But  the  effort  was  vain.  Wind  and 
sail  proved  as  useless  as  wheel  and 
compass  against  the  fatal  power  of  that 
mysterious  craft  which  drew  the  Okla 
homa  after  her  as  irresistibly  as  though 
196 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

the  two  vessels  were  united  by  an  un 
seen  hawser. 

"  The  steamer  had  now  become  a 
scene  of  indescribable  horror.  Meal 
time,  bedtime,— all  the  customary  rou 
tine  was  disorganized;  and  daily 
prayer  meetings  were  conducted 
among  the  more  emotional  of  the  pas 
sengers. 

"  Finally,  seven  days  after  she  had 
left  New  York,  the  officers  of  the  big 
liner  united  in  one  last  desperate  effort 
to  offset  the  magnetic  influence  of  the 
mysterious  *  pirate.'  The  fires  were 
revived  in  the  engine  room,  the  steam 
pressure  in  all  the  boilers  was  run  up 
to  the  *  blowing  off  '  point;  then,  sud 
denly,  the  reversing  mechanism  was 
applied  and  a  shudder  ran  through  the 
great  floating  city  as  the  twin  screws 
began  to  back  water. 

"  For  a  few  minutes  there  ensued  a 
titanic  tug  of  war  such  as  the  beholders 
197 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

had  never  before  witnessed.  The  water 
astern  was  lashed  into  a  lather  of  foam, 
and  for  a  brief  moment  the  triumph  of 
steam  over  magnetism  seemed  assured. 

66  Only  for  a  moment,  however,  for 
the  cheer  that  had  ascended  from  the 
anxious  scores  on  the  deck  of  the  Okla 
homa  when  she  slowly  began  to  back 
had  scarcely  died  away  when  with  a 
mighty  crash  a  vital  section  of  the  over 
taxed  engines  gave  way,  followed  by  a 
hoarse  yell  of  consternation  from  the 
excited  engineers  and  stokers  —  and 
both  screws  were  helpless  and  still. 

"  With  this  failure  hope  was  well- 
nigh  extinguished;  and  the  Oklahoma, 
with  her  precious  freight  and  her  six 
hundred  and  forty-three  human  souls, 
abandoned  all  active  effort  to  escape. 
With  not  a  sail  of  any  kind  in  sight, 
she  passively  rolled  and  plunged  south 
ward  for  seven  days  after  her  strange 
and  terrible  pilot,  from  which,  to  add 
198 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

to  the  horror  of  the  situation,  no 
human  sign  had  yet  been  given.  The 
supply  of  rockets  was  now  exhausted, 
and  food  was  doled  out  in  minute 
portions  as  to  members  of  a  ship 
wrecked  crew  in  order  to  husband 
supplies. 

"  On  the  afternoon  of  the  fourteenth 
day,  when  the  exhausted  passengers 
had  reached  the  verge  of  distraction,  a 
gleam  of  hope  appeared  on  the  horizon 
in  the  shape  of  a  solitary  steamer,  bear 
ing  down  from  the  southwest.  A 
glance  through  the  telescope  proved 
her  to  be  a  fast  and  formidable  British 
cruiser,  evidently  en  route  from  South 
America  to  England. 

"  At  this  news  a  mighty  shudder, 
half  of  hope,  half  of  fear,  seized  the 
crowd  assembled  upon  the  deck. 
Would  the  British  cruiser  come  to  their 
assistance,  and  if  so,  would  she,  too, 
become  a  victim  of  the  magnetic  craft  ? 
199 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

For  a  moment  their  fate  hung  in  the 
balance;  then  from  three  hundred 
throats  rang  out  a  hoarse  cry  of  joy 
as  the  mysterious  craft  swerved,  turned 
sharply  and  shot  away  over  the  surface 
of  the  Atlantic  due  north. 

"  The  spell  was  broken.  The  big 
liner  with  her  six  hundred  human  souls 
and  thirty  millions  in  gold  was  freed 
from  the  power  that  had  for  so  long 
held  her  captive.  But  crippled  as  she 
was  by  the  accident  to  her  machinery 
she  was  unable  to  proceed  unaided,  and 
was  taken  in  tow  by  the  British 
steamer,  the  Midlothian,  and  a  day 
later  was  brought  safely  into  port  at 
Fayal. 

"  The  Union  Press  steamer  is  the 
first  to  bring  the  thrilling  news.  The 
first  officer  of  the  Oklahoma  and  the 
saloon  passengers,  including  Sir  Q-am- 
brel  Roufe,  the  British  ambassador,  ac 
companied  your  correspondent  to  Lis- 
200 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

bon.  A  relief  steamer  is  urgently 
needed,  as  the  Oklahoma's  engines  are 
both  disabled,  and  she  will  not  be  able 
to  proceed  for  several  weeks. 

"  The  passenger  thought  to  be  '  Gen 
tleman  Jim  '  Langwood,  proves  to  be 
the  Duke  of  Medfordshire,  now  on  his 
wedding  trip  with  his  young  million 
aire  American  bride." 

Hardly  had  the  excitement  caused  by 
this  startling  intelligence  subsided, 
when  it  was  once  more  aroused  by  a 
despatch  from  Providence,  R.  L,  an 
nouncing  the  capture  in  the  act  of  rob 
bing  a  jewelry  store  of  "  Gentleman 
Jim  "  Langwood,  and  a  gang  of  four 
other  oldtimers,  and  by  the  following 
even  more  important  cablegram  from 
the  Russian  representative  of  the  Un 
ion  Press:  — 

"  St.  Petersburg,  April  2.— The  iden 
tity  of  the  mysterious  craft  by  which 
the  Oklahoma  was  drawn  from  her 
201 


The  Mystery  of  the  Thirty  Millions 

course  has  been  established  beyond  a 
doubt.  The  vessel  is  a  Hypnotic 
Cruiser,  recently  completed  by  a  Rus 
sian  inventor,  named  Slobodenski,  and 
possessed  of  an  electric  apparatus  by 
which  any  vessel  can  be  brought  com 
pletely  under  its  control. 

"  Whether  the  Hypnotic  Cruiser's 
bedevilment  of  the  Oklahoma  was 
merely  a  trial  of  power,  or  whether 
plunder  was  intended,  can  only  be  sur 
mised.  But  naval  lawyers  say  that  this 
marvelous  new  invention  will  revolu 
tionize  naval  warfare  and  necessitate 
the  passage  of  stringent  laws  to  cover 
a  crime  for  which  at  present  no  penalty 
exists." 


202 


ASLEEP  AT  LONE  MOUNTAIN 


203 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

IT   occurred  nearly  fourteen  years 
ago,  yet  I  never  enter  a  sleeping- 
car  without  being  confronted  by 
that  innocent  face.    It  clings  to  me  all 
the  more  because  I  have  always  looked 
upon    partings    and    leave-takings    as 
mile-posts  of  sorrow  in  the  journeys  of 
life.    I  dislike  good-bys.    I  hate  fare 
wells. 

I  had  just  returned  from  Australia 
and  was  about  to  start  on  my  journey 
across  the  continent.  In  company  with 
two  old  friends  who  had  crossed  the 
ferry  from  San  Francisco  to  Oakland 
to  see  me  off,  I  sat  chatting  in  my 
sleeper,  when  two  Sisters  of  Mercy 
hurriedly  entered  the  car. 

Just  what  it  was  in  the  appearance 
205 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

of  the  newcomers  that  arrested  the 
attention  of  the  earlier  arrivals  — 
whether  it  was  their  humble  yet  char 
acteristic  attire,  so  suggestive  of  char 
ity  the  whole  world  over,  the  apparent 
anxiety  betrayed  by  their  manner,  or 
the  fact  that  a  sleeping  child,  clasped 
tenderly  in  the  arms  of  one,  was  their 
sole  companion— whether  it  was  any  or 
all  of  these  things  that  caused  a  sudden 
reign  of  respectful  silence  in  the  car,  I 
am  unable  to  say.  Certain  it  is,  how 
ever,  that  their  coming  was  not  unno 
ticed;  neither  was  the  circumstance 
that  the  only  visible  baggage  of  the  trio 
consisted  of  a  small  square  bundle 
neatly  done  up  in  a  gray  shawl. 

Upon  being  shown  to  seats  in  the 
section  directly  opposite  the  one  occu 
pied  by  myself  and  friends,  they  at 
once  entered  into  earnest  conversation 
with  the  sleeping-car  conductor.  At 
the  first  few  whispered  words  the 
206 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

man's  manner  showed  unmistakable 
surprise.  He  appeared  either  unable 
or  unwilling  to  comply  with  some  re 
quest  they  had  made.  Although  the 
nature  of  the  request  was  not  apparent, 
the  occupants  of  neighboring  seats 
could  not  fail  to  note  from  the  con 
versation,  which  now  and  then  became 
quite  audible,  that  it  bore  some  impor 
tant  relation  to  the  sleeping  member  of 
the  party.  The  evident  fact  that  the 
sisters  felt  much  concerned  respecting 
the  safety  and  welfare  of  their  youthful 
companion  served  only  to  increase  the 
mystery  of  the  situation. 

After  patiently  listening  for  some 
minutes  to  appeals  first  from  one  and 
then  the  other,  and  after  glancing  over 
a  railroad  ticket  and  letter  they  had 
handed  him,  the  conductor  consented  to 
meet  their  wishes,  declining,  however, 
to  accept  a  sum  of  money  they  repeat 
edly  tendered  him.  Before  leaving 
207 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

them  the  man  spoke  a  few  words  of 
reassurance  and  encouragement,  which 
were  cut  short  by  the  shrill  whistle  of 
the  locomotive,  announcing  the  train 's 
departure.  The  sisters  arose  instantly, 
hastily  expressed  their  earnest  thanks 
to  the  conductor,  and  then,  sinking 
upon  their  knees  before  the  child, 
which  had  been  aroused  from  its  slum 
bers  and  sat  innocently  gazing  about, 
first  one  and  then  the  other  clasped  the 
infant  in  fond  embrace,  and,  amid  sobs 
and  kisses,  showered  upon  the  little 
being  the  most  fervent  blessings  and 
tender  farewells.  Then,  covering  their 
tearful  faces  with  their  hands,  they 
arose,  still  weeping  as  though  their 
hearts  would  break,  and  hurriedly  left 
the  car,  which  was  already  moving 
slowly  out  of  the  station. 

No  sooner  had  they  gone  than  all 
eyes  were  directed  towards  the  dimin 
utive    stranger    who   had    caused   the 
208 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

scene  just  witnessed.  Too  young  to 
realize  what  was  going  on,  he  sat  mo 
tionless,  as  though  spellbound  by  fear 
or  astonishment  at  his  strange  sur 
roundings.  In  an  instant  the  child  be 
came  an  object  of  intense  curiosity. 
More  than  that,  its  extreme  youth  and 
utter  helplessness  aroused,  on  the  part 
of  its  fellow-travelers,  feelings  of  gen 
uine  sympathy  and  pity  —  feelings 
which  the  heroic  silence  maintained  by 
the  little  innocent,  in  spite  of  the  now 
swiftly  moving  train,  only  served  to  in 
tensify. 

Neither  memory  nor  imagination  can 
suggest  to  me  a  more  touching  picture 
than  the  one  presented  by  that  plainly 
clad  handful  of  human  loneliness,  as  it 
sat  there  in  meek  silence,  its  tiny  hand 
timidly  resting  on  the  little  bundle  by 
its  side,  while  its  eyes  remained  in 
tently  fixed  on  the  door  which,  a  few 
moments  before,  had  closed  upon  its 
209 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

late  companions.  Whose  child  was 
this?  Who  was  to  care  for  it?  What 
was  to  become  of  it?  Was  one  of  the 
nuns  a  relative?  Was  the  younger, 
perhaps,  its  sister?  Or  was  either 
neither?  These  and  similar  questions 
could  be  easily  read  on  the  counte 
nances  of  the  wondering  passengers. 

Some  minutes  elapsed  before  the  con 
ductor  again  made  his  appearance, 
when  he  was  at  once  besieged  with 
questions  concerning  the  mysterious 
stranger.  And,  as  if  determined  that 
not  a  word  should  escape  their  ears, 
each  of  the  twelve  or  fifteen  occu 
pants  of  the  car  crowded  about  him 
as  he  seated  himself  beside  the  lonely 
child. 

The  story  they  heard  was  brief  and 
pathetic.  The  little  boy  was  as  much 
of  a  stranger  to  the  conductor  as  he 
was  to  the  passengers.  His  mother  was 
dead.  His  home  was  in  one  of  the 
210 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

smaller  manufacturing  towns  of  New 
England,  where  his  father,  who  was  to 
meet  him  on  the  arrival  of  our  train  at 
Omaha,  lived  in  humble  circumstances. 
The  conductor  had  promised  the  sis 
ters  to  protect  and  care  for  the  child 
during  the  five  days'  journey.  It  was, 
however,  not  the  little  fellow's  first  trip 
across  the  plains,  as  nearly  a  year  and 
a  half  ago,  when  but  a  few  weeks  old 
he  had  come  to  California  with  his  in 
valid  mother.  The  latter  had  survived 
the  long  journey  but  a  very  short  time, 
and  died  among  strangers  in  one  of  the 
foot-hill  towns  near  San  Francisco. 
The  Sisters  of  Mercy  of  that  city  had 
by  correspondence  arranged  with  the 
father  to  adopt,  or,  rather,  to  provide 
a  temporary  home  for  the  little  waif, 
until  he  should  be  old  enough  to  make 
the  long  return  journey.  And  now,  al 
though  the  boy  had  reached  but  the 
tender  age  of  eighteen  months,  the  dis- 
211 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

tant  parent,  craving  for  his  presence, 
had  begged  the  sister  to  enlist  in  his 
behalf  the  sympathies  and  care  of  some 
kind-hearted  East-bound  passenger  or 
railway  employee.  Their  repeated  ef 
forts  in  the  former  direction  having 
failed,  they  had  at  last  applied  to  the 
conductor. 

In  relating  the  child's  sad  history, 
the  sisters  had,  the  conductor  contin 
ued,  so  feelingly  solicited  his  kindly  of 
fices  and  paid  such  glowing  tribute  to 
the  almost  angelic  dispositon  and  ex 
ceptional  bravery  of  the  infant  that, 
however  disinclined  he  had  been  to 
assume  the  responsibility,  a  persistent 
refusal  of  their  unusual  request  seemed 
almost  inhuman.  He  had  therefore  un 
dertaken  the  strange  charge,  and 
trusted,  he  said,  that  the  passengers 
would  in  nowise  be  inconvenienced 
thereby.  From  that  moment  on,  every 
one  who  had  less  than  half  an  hour 
212 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

before  witnessed  the  scene  of  sorrow 
ful  parting,  which  had  so  touchingly 
told  how  completely  the  little  fellow 
had  walked  into  the  hearts  of  his  bene 
factors,  ~  from  that  time  on,  every  one 
felt  a  personal  responsibility  for  the 
comfort  and  safety  of  the  boy.  Intro 
duced  under  circumstances  that  ren 
dered  him  a  hero  at  the  outset,  at  the 
end  of  the  first  day  he  had  already  be 
come  the  pet  of  the  passengers  and  the 
object  of  their  kindliest  attentions. 

While  the  claim  that  this  child  was 
remarkable  for  beauty  and  cleverness 
might  lend  sentiment  and  romance  to 
my  simple  narrative,  the  fact  is  that  he 
was  neither  handsome  nor  bright.  Tn 
appearance  he  was  simply  a  plain, 
plump,  red-cheeked,  flaxen-haired  baby 
boy,  with  apparently  little  to  be  proud 
of,  save  his  evident  good  health  and  a 
pair  of  largo  blue  eyes  that  seemed 
frankness  itself.  His  accomplishments 
213 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

were  few,  indeed.  He  was  still,  as  the 
sisters  had  said,  learning  to  walk.  His 
vocabulary  included  but  three  or  four 
imperfectly  spoken  words,  and  he  was 
conspicuously  deficient  in  that  parrot- 
like  precociousness  so  common  and  fre 
quently  so  highly  prized  in  little  chil 
dren.  But  what  our  youthful  compan 
ion  lacked  in  attractive  outwardness 
was  more  than  made  up  by  the  true  in 
wardness  of  one  accomplishment  he  did 
possess.  That  was  silence.  This  vir 
tue  he  practised  to  a  degree  that  soon 
won  for  him  the  admiration  and  affec 
tion  of  all.  Though  exhibiting  no  sign 
of  embarrassment  at  the  friendly  ad 
vances  of  the  passengers,  and  while 
not  unmoved  by  their  tender  atten 
tions,  he  maintained  through  that  long 
journey  a  humble  air  of  mute  content 
ment  that  lost  its  balance  on  but  three 
occasions. 

His  quiet  ways  were  a  theme  of  con- 
214 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

stant  comment,  while  his  presence 
proved  not  only  a  source  of  increasing 
pleasure  to  our  small  band  of  tourists, 
but  did  much  to  relieve  the  monotony 
of  the  tedious  journey. 

One  important  detail  in  the  boy's 
eventful  history  was  missing.  Cared 
for  by  strangers  from  earliest  infancy, 
deprived  of  his  mother's  love  and  fa 
ther's  care,  he  had  thus  far  not  even 
received  that  all-important  parental 
gift,  —  a  Christian  name.  To  the  sis 
ters  he  had  been  known  simply  as 
"  Baby."  By  that  infantile  appella 
tion  he  had  passed  from  their  gentle 
mercies  to  the  conductor's  care.  And 
only  as  "  Baby  homeward  bound  "  was 
he  spoken  of  in  their  letter  addressed 
to  his  father. 

Before  he  had  spent  a  day  among  us 

it  was  suggested  that  his  exemplary 

Conduct  entitled  him  to  a  more  dignified 

name  —  at  least  during  the  period  of 

215 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

our  companionship.  And  this  sugges 
tion  led  to  one  of  many  amusing  inci 
dents.  By  what  name  should  the  boy 
be  known?  After  the  question  had 
been  eagerly  answered  a  dozen  times 
in  as  many  different  ways,  with  ap 
parently  little  hope  of  a  unanimous 
choice  —  for  every  one  felt  that  his  or 
her  preference  was  peculiarly  appro 
priate  —  a  quiet  old  man,  whose  ap 
pearance  was  strongly  suggestive  of 
the  pioneer  days,  offered  a  happy  solu 
tion  of  the  difficulty.  He  proposed 
that,  in  view  of  the  humble  circum 
stances  of  the  child,  the  privilege  of 
naming  him  for  the  trip  be  sold  at  auc 
tion  among  the  passengers  of  our  car, 
adding,  by  way  of  explanation,  that  the 
sum  thus  realized  might  "  give  the  lit 
tle  fellow  a  start  in  life." 

The  average  overland  tourist  is  never 
slow  to   adopt   any   expedient  to   re 
lieve  the  tedium  of  the  journey;    and 
216 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

here  was,  as  one  chap  expressed  it,  "  A 
chance  for  an  auction  on  wheels,  and 
one  for  charity's  sake,  at  that."  So 
the  proposition  was  no  sooner  stated 
than  acted  upon.  The  auctioneer  found 
himself  unanimously  elected,  and,  pla 
cing  himself  in  the  center  of  the  car, 
heard  the  bidding,  prompted  by  every 
generous  impulse  that  enthusiasm  and 
sympathy  can  give,  rise  rapidly  in  sums 
of  one,  two,  and  three  dollars  until 
thirty-five  was  called.  There  it  halted, 
but  only  for  a  moment.  The  situation 
had  become  exciting.  The  auctioneer 
himself  now  took  a  hand  in  the  compe 
tition;  and  a  round  of  applause  greeted 
his  bid,  made  in  the  name  of  his  native 
State,  "  Ohio  bids  fifty  dollars."  It 
was  regarded  as  a  matter  of  course  that 
this  sum  would  secure  the  coveted  priv 
ilege.  But  no!  Some  one  remarks  that 
yet  another  countv  remains  to  be  heard 
from.  The  voice  of  the  weather-worn 
217 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

pioneer,  —  the  suggester  of  the  scheme, 
—  has  not  yet  been  heard  in  the  bid 
ding.  He  has  been  a  silent  looker-on, 
biding  his  time.  Now  it  has  come.  As 
he  rises  slowly  in  his  seat  he  is  intently 
watched  by  every  eye,  for  somehow  the 
impression  prevails  that  he  hails  from 
"  the  coast,"  and  that  consequently 
there  can  be  nothing  small  in  anything 
he  does.  In  this  no  one  is  disappointed. 
The  heart  and  purse  of  the  gray-haired 
veteran  are  in  the  cause.  Besides,  his 
"  pride  is  up  "  for  the  State  he  wor 
ships,  almost  idolizes.  As  his  clear 
voice  rings  out  with:  "  California  sees 
Ohio's  fifty,  and  goes  fifty  better,"  he 
is  greeted  by  a  storm  of  cheers  that  he 
will  remember  as  long  as  he  lives.  And 
when  the  auctioneer  announces:  "  Cali 
fornia  pays  one  hundred  dollars  and 
secures  the  privilege  of  naming  the 
boy;  what  name  shall  it  be?  "  the  an 
swer  comes  back  quick  as  a  flash: 
218 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

"  Grit!  That  sounds  well  and  seems 
to  fit  well." 

The  passengers  thought  so,  too,  and 
very  plainly  showed  their  approval  by 
overwhelming  the  man  with  congratu 
lations  and  good  wishes. 

Reports  of  our  proceedings  were  not 
slow  in  reaching  the  passengers  in 
other  parts  of  the  train,  whose  curi 
osity  or  compassion  led  to  numerous 
daily  visits,  while  thoughtful  sympathy 
found  expression  in  liberal  gifts  of 
fruit,  photographs,  and  a  variety  of 
Indian  toys,  as  curious  as  they  were 
welcome.  To  the  old  Californian, 
whose  great  liberality  had  secured  for 
him  a  place  in  the  respect  and  good- will 
of  the  entire  party  which  was  second 
only  to  that  held  by  Grit  himself,  these 
continued  attentions  proved  a  source 
of  special  delight.  Though  he  bore  his 
honors  with  becoming  modesty,  he 
found  early  opportunity  of  proposing 
219 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

the  health  of  the  boy,  who,  as  he  aptly 
expressed  it,  "  had  been  rocked  in  the 
cradle  of  misfortune,  but  had  at  last 
struck  the  color."  Equally  happy  was 
his  reply  to  a  party  of  jolly  cowboys, 
whom  curiosity  had  led  to  solicit  "  a 
peep  at  the  silent  kid,"  while  the  train 
was  delayed  at  one  of  the  eating  sta 
tions  along  the  road.  Their  request 
having  been  granted,  one  of  their  num 
ber  felt  so  highly  elated  upon  receiving 
a  handshake  from  Grit  that  he  insisted 
upon  presenting  him  with  his  huge  cow 
boy  spurs  as  a  keepsake,  proclaiming  as 
he  did  so  —  with  a  trifle  more  enthusi 
asm  than  reverence  —  that  in  "  paying 
a  hundred  to  nominate  the  cute  little 
kid,  '  old  California  '  carved  his  own 
name  upon  the  Rock  of  Ages." 

"  Bless  his  little  heart,"  replied  the 
grizzled  miner;  "I'd  give  ten  thousand 
more  to  own  him,  now  that  he  has  won 
his  spurs." 

220 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

Among  the  recollections  of  my  per 
sonal  experiences  with  Grit,  the  second 
night  of  the  journey  stands  out  with 
especial  clearness.  At  that  time  we 
were  passing  through  the  famous  snow- 
shed  section  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada,  our  train  running  at  a 
high  rate  of  speed  in  order  to  make  up 
lost  time.  It  was  here  that  the  bravery 
of  our  little  hero  was  put  to  a  cruel 
test.  Some  time  after  midnight  I  was 
awakened  by  a  child's  frantic  screams, 
that  rose  loud  above  the  train's  thun 
dering  noise.  And,  though  up  to  this 
time  there  had  not  been  a  single  tearful 
outbreak  on  the  part  of  the  young  Tro 
jan,  there  could  be  no  mistaking  the 
source  of  the  piercing  shrieks  that  now 
met  my  ears.  I  lost  no  time  in  hasten 
ing  to  his  assistance,  for  I  knew  that, 
by  way  of  experiment,  he  had  been 
quartered  in  a  "  section  "  entirely  by 
himself,  the  previous  night  having  been 

221 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

a  sleepless  one  to  both  the  conductor 
and  his  charge.  Furthermore,  it  was 
evident  from  his  agonizing  cries  that  I 
was  the  first  to  hear  him.  Finding  the 
car  in  total  darkness,  the  lights  on  both 
ends  having  gone  out,  I  met  with  some 
delay  in  feeling  my  way  to  the  terrified 
child,  calling  to  him  as  I  went;  and  at 
the  first  touch  of  my  hand  the  trem 
bling,  feverish  little  form  drew  close  to 
me,  its  chubby  arms  closed  wildly  about 
my  neck,  while  loud,  hysterical  sobs 
told  more  plainly  than  words  can  ex 
press  the  agony  that  the  child  had  en 
dured.  Only  one  who  is  familiar  with 
sleeping-car  travel  over  mountainous 
country,  who  has  found  himself  sud 
denly  aroused  by  the  terrific  roaring 
and  swaying  of  a  swiftly  running  train, 
and  who,  unconscious  for  the  instant  of 
his  surroundings,  has  felt  his  flesh 
creep  and  his  heart  stand  still,  as  he 
imagined  himself  engulfed  by  a  mighty 

222 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

torrent  or  hurled  over  some  awful  prec 
ipice,  only  such  an  one  can  realize  the 
position  of  this  terror-stricken  child. 

Arousing  the  porter,  who  had  gone  to 
sleep  while  blacking  the  passengers' 
boots,  I  carried  Grit  to  my  own  berth, 
where  my  endeavors  to  soothe  his  dis 
turbed  feelings  proved  so  highly  suc 
cessful  that  the  re-lighting  of  the  car 
was  greeted  by  him  with  loud  laughter, 
through  the  still  lingering  tears.  But 
go  to  sleep  again  he  would  not.  No 
matter  how  often  I  tucked  him  beneath 
the  blankets  and  settled  myself  to  pre 
tended  slumbers,  he  would  as  often  ex 
tricate  himself,  and,  in  a  sitting  pos 
ture,  silently  contemplate  his  surround 
ings.  Fearing  to  doze  off  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  I  finally  concluded  to  sit 
up  with  the  little  fellow  until  sleep 
should  overcome  him.  Making  his  way 
to  my  side  as  I  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
berth,  and  placing  his  face  close  to 
223 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

mine,  he  imparted  the  cause  of  his  per 
sistent  wakefulness  by  a  gently  uttered 
"  dwink!  "  —  repeating  the  word  with 
more  emphasis  after  a  moment's  pause. 
Happily,  ample  provisions  had  been 
made  to  meet  his  wants  in  this  direc 
tion,  and,  procuring  from  the  porter's 
"  baby's  bakery,"  as  the  well-provided 
lunch  basket  we  had  presented  him  at 
Sacramento  had  come  to  be  known,  I 
helped  him  to  a  glass  of  milk,  after 
drinking  which  he  fell  quickly  to  sleep. 
After  that  night's  experience,  Grit 
singled  me  out  as  his  particular  friend; 
and,  as  a  consequence,  he  was  nightly 
permitted  to  share  my  section  with  me. 
In  these  closer  relations  I  found  him 
the  gentlest,  most  loving,  and  best-be 
haved  child  I  ever  met.  It  seemed  as 
though  he  knew  and  felt  that  he  stood 
sadly  alone  in  the  world,  and  that  the 
less  trouble  he  gave  to  others  the  bet 
ter  he  would  get  on.  His  spirit  of  con- 
224 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

tentment  and  faculty  of  self-entertain 
ment  were  phenomenal.  While  cards, 
books,  conversation,  and  sleep  served 
as  a  means  of  passing  away  time  among 
the  other  passengers,  he  would  for 
hours  at  a  time  remain  in  sole  posses 
sion  of  a  favorite  corner  seat,  silently 
musing  over  some  simple  Indian  toy. 
Again,  an  illustrated  time-table  or  rail 
way  map  would  absorb  his  entire  atten 
tion,  until  he  had  apparently  mastered 
every  detail  of  the  intricate  document. 
To  watch  the  little  toddling  figure,  after 
these  prolonged  periods  of  self-amuse 
ment,  as,  clad  in  a  long,  loose,  gray 
gown,  it  quietly  made  its  way  along  the 
car  on  a  tour  of  inspection,  proved  an 
appealing  study.  Finding  his  arrival  at 
my  seat  unnoticed  at  times  —  by  reason 
of  my  absorption  in  a  book  or  game  of 
cards  —  he  would  announce  his  pres 
ence  by  a  series  of  steady  pulls  at  my 
coat,  and  make  known  his  wants  by  a 
225 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

sweetly  mumbled  "  Mum-mum."  Re 
peated  falls,  incurred  during  these  ex 
cursions,  never  caused  him  to  falter  in 
his  purpose,  nor  did  these,  at  any  time, 
result  in  any  other  than  good-natured 
demonstrations. 

On  but  one  occasion,  aside  from  that 
already  alluded  to,  was  he  moved  to 
tears  —  an  unlucky  incident  that  hap 
pened  while  our  party  was  taking 
breakfast  at  Cheyenne,  sadly  upsetting 
the  remarkable  tranquillity  of  his  mind. 
We  had  scarcely  seated  ourselves  at  the 
table,  with  the  boy,  as  usual,  perched  in 
a  baby  chair  in  the  midst  of  the  party, 
when,  espying  an  orange  that  a  little 
girl  next  to  him  had  placed  beside  her 
plate,  Grit,  innocently  unmindful  of  its 
ownership,  proceeded  to  help  himself  to 
the  inviting  fruit,  No  sooner  had  he 
grasped  it  than  a  sharp  slap  from  his 
fair  neighbor's  hand  sent  it  rolling 
along  the  floor.  The  child  started, 
226 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

trembled;  keenly  hurt  in  more  ways 
than  one  by  what  was,  no  doubt,  the 
first  punishment  he  had  ever  received, 
he  burst  into  heart-rending  tears. 

Turning  to  me  with  outstretched 
arms,  his  piteously  spoken  "  Mum- 
mum  "  cast  a  shadow  over  the  festive 
occasion,  and  to  some  of  us,  at  least, 
placed  the  further  discussion  of  the 
meal  beyond  desire.  Taking  him  back 
to  the  car,  we  were  quickly  joined  by 
the  conductor  and  our  friend  from  the 
coast,  who,  after  denouncing  the  "  out 
rage  "  with  frontier  fluency,  insisted 
that  he  should  demand  an  apology  from 
the  offender,  who  was  "  plenty  old 
enough  to  know  better,"  and  whose 
indignity  to  Grit,  "  right  before  a  lot 
of  strangers,  was  nothing  short  of  an 
insult  to  our  entire  party."  He  "  would 
rather,"  he  continued,  "  fast  a  whole 
month  "  than  sit  by  and  again  witness 
such  conduct  from  one  whose  "  sex  and 
227 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

insignificance  prevented  a  man  from 
even  drawing  his  gun  in  defence  of  the 
most  helpless  and  innocent  little  crea 
ture  on  earth." 

Something  in  the  old  man's  manner, 
as  he  uttered  these  words,  left  little 
doubt  in  the  minds  of  the  passengers, 
now  returning  from  the  hurriedly  fin 
ished  meal,  that,  had  Grit's  tormentor 
been  unfortunate  enough  to  belong  to 
the  sterner  sex,  the  novel  experience  of 
serving  on  a  coroner's  jury  in  the  cow 
boy  country  would  doubtless  have  been 
afforded  us.  This  tension  of  feeling 
was  happily  relieved,  however,  by  the 
appearance  of  the  offender  in  person, 
who,  accompanied  by  her  mother,  tear 
fully  presented,  not  only  her  humble 
apology,  but  that  bone  of  contention, 
the  tropical  product  itself,  which  she 
insisted  should  be  accepted  as  a  peace 
offering. 

As  the  journey  progressed,  each  day 
228 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

brought  to  our  party  frequent  remind 
ers  of  their  constantly  increasing  at 
tachment,  not  only  for  the  little  hero, 
but  for  each  other.  And  it  became  more 
and  more  apparent,  now  that  the  Rock 
ies  had  already  been  left  behind,  and 
our  thoughts  turned  to  the  inevitable 
breaking  up  of  the  happy  band,  that 
Grit's  presence  had  been  the  uncon 
scious  means  of  forming  among  his 
companions  a  strong  bond  of  friend 
ship  and  good-fellowship  —  one  that 
could  not  be  severed  without  sincere 
mutual  regrets. 

The  morning  of  the  last  day  found  us 
still  speeding  over  the  seemingly  end 
less  cattle  plains,  where  the  frequent 
spectacle  of  immense  grazing  herds, 
guarded  by  picturesque  bands  of  frol 
icking  cowboys,  added  novelty  and  in 
terest  to  the  monotony  of  the  scene. 

It  was  in  the  early  part  of  the  after 
noon  of  that  day,  while  Grit  was  en- 
229 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

joying  his  customary  mid-day  nap,  and 
the  final  games  of  whist  and  euchre  so 
completely  enlisted  our  interest  as  to 
render  unnoticed  the  locomotive's  shrill 
notes  of  warning  to  trespassing  cattle, 
that  a  sudden  terrific  crash,  followed  by 
violent  jolting  and  swaying  of  the  car, 
breaking  of  windows,  and  pitching 
about  of  passengers  and  baggage, 
caused  a  scene  of  consternation  and 
suffering. 

Mingled  with  shouts  of  "  Collision!  " 
from  men,  and  the  screams  of  panic- 
stricken  women,  came  the  engineer's 
piercing  signal  for  "  Down  brakes!  " 
and  before  the  car  had  fairly  regained 
its  balance  upon  the  rails  and  the  occu 
pants  had  time  to  extricate  themselves 
or  realize  what  had  happened,  the  train 
had  come  to  a  standstill. 

More  frightened  than  hurt,  people  in 
stantly  began  bolting  frantically  for  the 
doors,  questioning  and  shouting  to  one 
230 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

another  as  they  went.  In  the  midst  of 
the  wild  confusion  arose  cries  of  "  Save 
Grit!  Look  out  for  the  baby!  "  The 
words  sent  a  shock  to  the  heart  of  every 
hearer.  Pear  vanished.  Personal  peril 
was  forgotten  for  the  moment.  Not  a 
soul  left  the  car!  Though  women  had 
fainted  and  men  lay  motionless  as  if 
paralyzed,  but  one  thought  filled  the 
minds  of  those  who  had  heard  the  ap 
peal:  Was  Grit  safe? 

In  a  moment  the  answer  to  this  un 
asked  question  fell  from  the  lips  of  one 
whose  intense  affection  for  the  boy  he 
had  so  appropriately  named  needed  no 
appeal  to  carry  him  to  his  side  in  time 
of  peril.  "  The  child  is  hurt!  Some 
body  go  and  see  if  there  is  a  doctor  on 
the  train!  v  In  willing  response,  sev 
eral  men  rushed  out  among  the  excited 
throng  that  poured  from  the  other 
cars. 

Before  us,  on  a  pillowed  seat,  to 
231 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

which  he  had  just  borne  him,  lay  Grit, 
half  unconscious,  pale,  limp,  and  breath 
ing  with  painful  difficulty.  The  sudden 
shock  which  had  almost  overturned  the 
car  had  rudely  thrown  him  from  his  bed 
to  the  floor.  There,  between  two  un 
occupied  seats  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  car,  we  had  found  him,  convulsively 
gasping  for  breath,  one  little  hand  still 
grasping  tightly  the  Indian  doll-baby 
that  for  days  had  been  his  cherished 
companion.  Though  an  examination  of 
his  body  revealed  no  marks  of  violence, 
he  was  evidently  in  great  pain.  Apply 
ing  such  restoratives  as  were  at  hand, 
we  gradually  revived  consciousness. 
Every  attempt,  however,  to  lift  him  or 
change  his  reclining  position  visibly 
increased  his  suffering. 

Word  soon  came  back  that  no  physi 
cian  could  be  found,  that  the  accident 
was  caused  by  the  train  coming  into 
collision  with  a  band  of  stray  cattle. 
232 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

So  far  as  could  be  hastily  ascertained, 
one  man  had  been  fatally  injured,  while 
many  persons  had  sustained  serious 
bruises  and  strains.  From  the  train 
conductor  it  was  further  learned  that 
neither  the  locomotive  nor  any  of 
the  cars  had  been  sufficiently  dam 
aged  to  prevent  our  proceeding  to 
Omaha  —  still  some  five  or  six  hours 
distant. 

After  a  brief  stop  for  the  purpose  of 
a  careful  examination  of  all  parts  of  the 
train,  we  were  again  under  way;  the 
engineer  having  orders,  in  view  of  the 
injured  passengers,  to  make  the  run  in 
the  fastest  time  possible. 

The  remainder  of  the  journey  was, 
even  to  the  most  fortunate,  associated 
with  sadness.  But  whatever  the  suffer 
ing  on  that  ill-fated  train,  memory  car 
ries  me  back  to  but  one  sorrowful  scene, 
-  the  bedside  about  which  lingered  the 
friends  of  the  little  stranger  whom  we 
233 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

had  learned  to  love  so  well.  In  the 
presence  of  his  suffering  pur  own  lesser 
injuries  were  forgotten,  and  all  efforts 
were  bent  upon  securing  for  the  little 
sufferer  every  comfort  possible  under 
the  adverse  circumstances.  With  a 
view  to  lessening  the  painful  effect  of 
the  constant  jarring  and  shaking  mo 
tion,  a  swinging  bed  was  speedily  im 
provised  in  the  middle  of  the  car,  and 
here,  surrounded  by  his  sorrowing  com 
panions,  lay  Grit,  enduring  in  silence 
the  pains  that  his  pale,  sadly  troubled 
face  so  keenly  expressed. 

Late  in  the  evening  the  train  reached 
its  destination,  without  further  mishap. 

It  had  not  yet  come  to  a  standstill  in 
the  station  when,  accompanied  by  the 
sleeping-car  conductor,  the  father  of 
Grit  entered  the  car.  Early  in  the  day 
it  had  been  resolved  by  the  passengers 
that  three  of  their  number  should  meet 
the  father  upon  his  arrival,  for  the  pur- 
234 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

pose  of  exonerating  the  conductor  from 
any  carelessness,  and  also  for  offering 
their  assistance  in  caring  for  the  child 
during  the  night.  Now,  however,  re 
minded  of  their  former  happy  anticipa 
tion  of  the  meeting  between  parent  and 
child,  a  shudder  of  sadness  caused  them 
irresistibly  to  shrink  from  a  scene  of 
welcome  more  deeply  sad,  even,  than 
that  sorrowful  parting  which  they  had 
witnessed  on  entering  upon  their  jour 
ney  a  few  days  before. 

As  the  stranger,  deeply  agitated,  anx 
iously  made  his  way  to  the  central 
group,  however,  earnest  sympathy 
found  ready  expression;  and  ere  his 
eye  had  met  the  object  of  its  search  a 
friendly  voice  checked  and  bade  him  be 
calm  and  hopeful.  "  Your  child,  sir," 
continued  the  speaker  reassuringly, 
"  has  not  entirely  recovered  from  the 
rough  shaking-up  we  got  a  little  while 
ago.  He  had  a  lucky  escape,  but  now 
235 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

needs  rest  and  quiet,  and  —  you  and  I 
had  perhaps  better  go  for  a  doctor, 
while  our  friends  here  convey  the  boy 
to  the  hotel,  where  we  shall  join  them 
shortly."  And  as  the  uneasy  parent 
bends  over  the  little  bed  and  with  in 
quiring  look  seeks  from  the  calm  blue 
eyes  some  token  of  recognition  or  sign 
of  hope,  the  voice,  more  urgent  —  as 
though  suddenly  stirred  by  memories  of 
an  eventful  past  —  again  breaks  in: 
"  Let  us  lose  no  time  in  making  the 
child  more  comfortable." 

A  few  moments  later  Grit's  friends 
stood  around  his  bed  at  the  neighbor 
ing  hotel,  listening  to  the  verdict  of  the 
physician  hastily  summoned  by  the  big- 
hearted  pioneer.  Internal  injury  of  an 
extent  unknown,  but  whose  nature 
would  probably  develop  before  morn 
ing,  was  the  verdict  given  after  a  care 
ful  examination.  Alleviating  measures, 
however,  were  suggested,  which  the  dis- 
236 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

tracted  father  hastened  to  put  into  ef 
fect.  It  was  during  one  of  his  absences 
from  the  room  that  the  big-hearted 
pioneer,  drawing  the  doctor  to  one  side, 
appealed  to  him  in  faltering  tones  to 
save  the  child  "  at  any  sacrifice  or  any 
cost,'' 

But  the  appeal,  though  touching,  was 
unnecessary.  Higher  considerations 
than  those  of  personal  gain  prompted 
the  kind  doctor  to  exercise  his  utmost 
skill.  After  his  first  visit  not  an  hour 
passed  but  what  his  footsteps  brought 
to  the  watchers  reassuring  proof  of  his 
deep  interest  in  the  case.  And  finally, 
yielding  apparently  to  the  soothing 
remedies,  Grit  fell  into  slumber  that 
brought  encouragement  to  his  friends, 
none  of  whom  could  be  induced,  how 
ever,  to  forsake  his  bedside. 

During  the  vigils  of  the  night  the 
father  was  repeatedly  moved  to  speak 
of  the  sorrows  of  his  life;  of  the  sud- 
237 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

den,  fatal  illness  of  his  loving  young 
wife;  and  of  her  ardent  assurance  that 
her  last  thoughts  were  solely  of  himself 
"  and  baby,"  coupled  with  the  fervent 
wish  that  the  two  might  "  some  day 
find  a  home  in  California,  where  in 
their  final  rest  all  three  might  once 
again  be  side  by  side." 

Towards  morning  the  boy  grew  sud 
denly  restive,  and  violent  coughing 
spells  brought  back  the  condition  of 
semi-unconsciousness  of  the  previous 
day.  The  doctor,  evidently  expecting 
a  crisis,  now  remained  constantly  at  his 
side. 

The  change  came  at  last. 

Just  after  dawn  a  beam  of  light 
broke  softly  over  the  little  face,  and 
new  hope  came  to  the  anxious  watch 
ers.  But,  mistaking  the  silent  messen 
ger's  approach  for  the  herald  of  return 
ing  health,  they  had  hoped  in  vain. 
The  peaceful  smile  lingered  but  a  mo- 
238 


Asleep  at  Lone  Mountain 

inent,    then   returned    once    again,    as 
though  the  beckoning  spirit 

"  Was  loth  to  quit  its  hold," 

and  Grit  had  fallen  asleep. 

As  a  token  of  affection  for  her  child, 
and  in  compliance  with  the  dying  moth 
er  's  wish,  the  friends  of  Grit  secured 
for  the  husband  and  father  —  chiefly 
through  the  generosity  of  one  whose 
deeds  shall  outlive  the  recollection  of 
his  name  —  a  permanent  home  in  Cali 
fornia;  while  the  boy  sleeps  by  her 
side,  where  the  peaceful  silence  he  so 
sweetly  symbolized  is  never  broken 
save  by  the  weird  lullaby  of  the  waves 
that  gently  rise  and  fall  over  the  dis 
tant  shadows  of  Lone  Mountain. 


THE  END. 


230 


From 

L.  C.  Page  &  Company's 

Announcement  List 

of  New   Fiction 


THE  STORY  GIRL 

By  L.  M.  MONTGOMERY. 

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To  quote  from  one  of  our  editor's  reports  on  the  new  Mont 
gomery  book  —  "  Miss  Montgomery  has  decidedly  arrived  in  this 
story!  "  The  remarkable  success  of  her  delightful  ANNE  books 
and  of  the  charming  "  Kilmeny  of  the  Orchard  "  has  established 
her  as  one  of  America's  leading  authors  —  a  writer  of  books 
which  touch  the  heart,  uplift  the  spirit,  and  leave  an  imprint  of 
lasting  sweetness  on  the  memory.  But  in  "  The  Story  Girl," 
everywhere  the  touch  of  the  finished  artist  is  evident  —  a  smooth 
ness  and  polish  which  heightens  the  unusual  style  of  a  gifted 
author. 

The  environment  is  again  the  author's  beloved  Prince  Edward 
Island  and  the  story  and  incidents  possess  the  same  simplicity 
and  charm  which  characterize  Miss  Montgomery's  earlier  books. 
The  Story  Girl,  herself  —  Sara  Stanley  —  is  a  fascinating 
creature,  and  will  delight  and  thrill  her  readers  with  her  weird 
tales  of  ghosts  "  and  things."  She  tells  in  wondrous  voice  of 
"  The  Mystery  of  the  Golden  Milestone,"  "  How  Kissing  Was 
Discovered."  and  of  just  how  the  Milky  Way  happened  into  the 
heavens.  She  will  make  you  feel  the  spell  of  the  old  orchard 
where  she  and  her  playmates  spend  such  happy  days,  and  with 
Felix,  Dan  and  Beverly  you  will  live  again  with  her  the  "  trage 
dies  of  childhood." 

Of  Miss  Montgomery's  previous  books,  the  reviewers  have 
written  as  follows: 

"  The  art  which  pervades  every  page  is  so  refined  that  the  cul 
tivated  imagination  will  return  to  the  story  again  and  again  in 
memory  to  find  always  something  fresh  to  enjoy."  —  Toronto 
World. 

"  Miss  Montgomery  has  attained  an  honored  place  among  the 
worth-while  writers  of  fiction."  —  Beacon  and  Budget. 

"  Miss  Montgomery  has  a  sympathetic  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  joined  to  high  ideals,  a  reasonably  romantic  view  point 
and  a  distinct  gift  of  description."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


L.    C.  PAGE   dr*   COMPANY'S 


A  CAPTAIN  OF  RALEIGH'S 

By  G.  E.  THEODORE  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  A  Cavalier  of  Vir 
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A  typical  Roberts  romance  —  dashing  and  brisk  with  the 
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land,  at  the  time  when  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  other  famous 
captains  swept  the  seas  for  England.  Sir  Walter  is  one  of  the 
characters  in  the  romance  but  the  chief  interest  centres  about  one 
of  his  officers,  Captain  John  Percy. 

Elizabeth  Duwaney,  the  heroine,  is  beautiful  and  vivacious 
enough  to  quite  turn  the  heads  of  the  several  gallant  gentlemen 
who  struggle  for  her  hand,  and  to  keep  the  reader  guessing  until 
the  very  last  page  as  to  which  suitor  will  find  favor  in  her  eyes. 
Unusual  and  unexpected  situations  in  the  plot  are  handled  skil 
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"  One  can  always  predict  of  a  book  by  Mr.  Roberts  that  it 
will  be  interesting.  One  can  go  further  and  predict  that  the  book 
will  be  fascinating,  exciting  and  thrilling."  —  Boston  Globe. 

A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

By  ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS,  author  of  "  An  Enemy  to  the 
King,"  "  Philip  Winwood,"  etc.,  and  G.  E.  THEODORE 
ROBERTS,  author  of  "  Hemming,  the  Adventurer,"  "  Red 
Feathers,"  etc. 

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ment  of  a  posthumous  work  by  that  gifted  writer.  The  rough 
draft  of  the  story  was  laid  aside  for  other  work,  and  later,  with 
out  completing  the  novel,  the  plot  was  utilized  for  a  play.  With 
the  play  completed  Mr.  Stephens  again  turned  his  attention  to 
the  novel,  but  death  prevented  its  completion.  Mr.  Roberts  has 
handled  his  difficult  task  of  completing  the  work  with  care  and 
skill. 

The  story,  Hke  that  of  "  The  Continental  Dragoon,"  takes  as 
its  theme  an  incident  in  the  Revolution,  and,  as  in  the  earlier 
novel,  the  scene  is  the  "  debatable  ground  "  north  of  New  York. 
In  interest  of  plot  and  originality  of  development  it  is  as  re 
markable  as  the  earlier  work,  but  it  is  more  mature,  more  force 
ful,  more  real. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


THE  DILEMMA  OF  ENGELTIE 

By  EMMA  RAYNER,  author  of  "  Free  to  Serve,"  etc. 

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Given  a  wedding  irrevocably  decreed,  the  date  of  the  actual 
ceremony  somewhere  on  the  limits  of  a  fortnight  ahead;  given 
a  bride  but  not  a  groom,  a  maid  of  the  old  Dutch  New  York  days, 
pretty  enough  to  turn  men's  heads  for  her  beauty  alone,  well 
dowered  enough  to  be  one  of  the  prizes  of  the  decade;  the  wedding 
festivities,  merrymakings  these  Dutch  colonial  worthies  loved 
to  give  to  prospective  brides  and  grooms,  in  full  swing;  half  a 
dozen  young  Dutchmen  with  hands  outstretched  ready  to  grasp 
the  prize  and  reciprocate  the  maiden's  vows  would  she  but  nod 
their  way;  the  wedding  itself  as  sure  as  fate  or  death;  the  bride 
upon  the  scene,  receiving  the  honors  of  the  occasion  —  alone; 
the  bridegroom  an  unknown  quantity;  the  days  racing  by  in 
mirth  and  festivity  and  the  wedding  daily  drawing  nearer; 
problem  —  find  the  bridegroom ! 

The  setting  for  this  unusual  situation  is  quaint  New  Nether 
lands,  in  1702,  shortly  after  England  had  succeeded  in  wresting 
from  Holland  her  prosperous  colony  in  the  New  World.  The 
sharp  contrast  between  the  primitive  conditions  of  the  neigh 
boring  settlements  and  the  comparative  luxury  of  the  town  is 
well  portrayed,  and  forms  an  everchanging  background  to  a 
tale  of  unusual  excellence  both  in  the  conception  and  in  the 
development  of  its  novel  plot. 

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"  After  reading  Emma  Rayner's  tale  of  Colonial  New  York, 
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of  atmosphere.  The  spirit  of  the  early  eighteenth  century  has 
been  caught  to  perfection,  and  transferred  to  every  page.  One 
lives  in  a  picturesque  past,  and  thinks  not  of  the  complicated 
world  of  to-day,  save  as  the  impulses  and  motives  animating 
human  beings  are  the  same  now  as  then."  —  Boston  Times. 

"  To  the  charm  of  a  story  well  conceived  and  cleverly  told  is 
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THE  CHRONICLES  OF  MADELYN  MACK 

By  HUGH  C.  WEIR. 

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Lovers  of  rapid  action,  ingenious  situations  and  excitement 
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—  the  heroine  of  this  clever  and  straightforward  detective  novel. 
Her  career  is  brimful  of  excitement,  one  continuous  series  of 
adventures,  which  constitute  a  tale  of  swift  and  dramatic  action. 
Clever  in  plot  and  effective  in  style,  the  author  has  seized  on 
some  of  the  most  sensational  features  of  modern  life,  and  the 
reader  who  has  a  grain  of  fancy  or  imagination  may  be  defied 
to  lay  this  book  down  once  he  has  begun  it  until  the  last  WOK!  is 
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MISS  BILLY 

By  ELEANOR  H.  PORTER. 

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sweetest  of  smiles.  When  you  first  meet  her  in  the  story  she  is 
all  that  her  name  implies  —  an  impulsive,  warm-hearted  girl  of 
eighteen  who  quite  unknowingly  succeeds  in  completely  upsetting 
the  quiet  and  dignity  of  the  Beacon  Street  household  of  the  three 
Henshaw  boys,  who  had  hitherto  lived  an  uneventful  life  in 
"  The  Strata,"  as  the  old  Boston  mansion  was  fittingly  termed 
by  Bertram,  the  youngest  of  the  brothers.  But  Billy  grows  up, 
and  almost  before  she  herself  realizes  it  a  romance  has  entered 
her  life  —  one  of  those  charming  and  refreshing  romances  which 
strike  a  sympathetic  chord  in  the  hearts  of  its  readers  and  bring 
back  fond  memories  of  "  the  glamour  and  joys  of  youth." 

THE  RED  FOX'S  SON 

By  EDGAR  M.  DILLEY. 

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surpasses  the  regulation  story  of  modern  mystery  and  adventure, 
when  the  dashing  young  American  goes  to  the  mythical,  but 
interesting  Balkan  State,  and  creates  havoc  in  the  hearts  of  the 
Slavs,  himself  becoming  a  slave  to  the  beautiful  princess  of  the 
country.    It  is  a  romance  rich  in  exciting  detail,  and  has  glamour, 
dash,  vivacity  and  spirit  of  the  most  pleasing  order.     In  every 
page  of  "  The  Red  Fox's  Son  "  the  fiction  lover  will  find  fascina 
ting  reading. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


GEORGE   THORNE 

By  NORVAL  RICHARDSON,  author  of  the  big  Southern  novel  — 

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Mr.  Richardson's  new  story  is  striking  in  thought  and  treat 
ment.  Taking  a  man  from  the  rubbish  heap  of  poverty,  the 
author  places  him  in  surroundings  of  wealth  and  refinement,  and 
then  traces  the  effect  of  the  new  influences  upon  his  character. 

Of  "  The  Lead  of  Honour  "  the  critics  have  written  as  follows: 

"  '  The  Lead  of  Honour '  cannot  but  make  those  who  read  it 
better  pleased  with  life  and  with  humanity  (the  which  is  much)." 
—  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

11  Mr.  Richardson  has  given  us  a  story  which  is  well  worth 
the  perusal."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  A  story  of  much  more  than  usual  merit.  It  is  seldom  that 
one  turns  away  from  a  work  of  fiction  with  more  reluctance  to 
part  company  with  its  people  and  with  a  greater  impetus  towards 
one's  own  best."  —  Boston  Herald. 

"  It  is  rarely  that  a  love  story  is  written  in  these  days  that  has 
in  it  so  much  of  pure  and  lofty  sentiment,  of  so  high  ideals  and 
so  absorbing  in  its  romance  that  the  reader  for  the  time  is  lifted 
out  of  himself.  It  is  a  novel  which  really  stands  on  a  pinnacle 
as  contrasted  with  much  of  the  current  fiction  of  the  day."  — 
Springfield  Union. 

11  Mr.  Richardson  has  an  excellent  style,  a  gift  of  character- 
drawing  and  much  emotional  power."  —  Providence  Journal. 

DIONIS  OF  THE  WHITE  VEIL 

By  CAROLINE  BROWN,  author  of  "  Knights  of  Fustian,"  "  On 

the  We-A  Trail,"  etc. 

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A  romance  of  the  early  days  of  the  eighteenth  century,  with 
the  scenes  for  the  most  part  laid  in  the  region  bordering  the 
Mississippi,  from  Louisiana  north  towards  the  Illinois  country. 

When  the  gay  and  handsome  Chevalier  Fauchet  first  sets  eyes 
upon  the  heroine,  Dionis  Montfort,  she  has  entered  upon  her 
novitiate,  and  is  to  take  the  vows  of  a  nun  in  less  than  a  week's 
time.  Fauchet,  a  universal  lover,  gallant  always,  serious  never, 
is  attracted  by  the  demure  and  innocent  novice,  at  first  because 
of  her  beauty;  but  later  when  he  realizes  that  it  is  real  affection 
he  feels  for  the  girl,  the  Chevalier  determines  that  the  Church 
must  fight  him  for  her  life's  devotion.  How  fate  throws  the 
two  together,  allowing  love  finally  to  triumph  over  the  Church, 
makes  a  romance  remarkable  in  its  consistent  and  absorbing 
charm. 


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THE   CASE  OF   PAUL   BREEN 

By  ANTHONY  TUDOR,  LL.B. 

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A  positive,  strong  human  novel,  the  story  of  an  innocent  man 
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plot  is  new  and  its  development  most  striking,  while  the  story 
is  handled  throughout  in  masterly  and  dignified  fashion  by  a 
writer  whose  style  is  at  all  times  convincing  and  forceful.  He 
has  had  the  courage  to  go  right  to  the  heart  of  things,  and  bare 
for  his  readers'  gaze  the  very  souls  of  his  characters.  It  is  a 
powerful  work  —  one  which  will  probably  be  called  a  "  bold 
novel,"  and  not  only  is  it  of  intense  interest,  but  it  is  a  story 
which  furnishes  much  food  for  thought. 

THE  RED-HOT  DOLLAR 

By  H.  D.  UMBSTAETTER. 

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For  three  reasons  this  little  book  will  arouse  interest.  First, 
because  of  the  stories  themselves,  next,  because  their  author, 
H.  D.  Umbstaetter,  is  the  founder  and  publisher  of  The  Black 
Cat,  which,  to  quote  the  New  York  Tribune,  "  has  done  more  for 
short-story  readers  and  short-story  writers  than  any  other 
periodical,"  and  last,  but  not  least,  because  of  the  unique  intro 
duction  by  Jack  London.  Only  once  in  a  long  time  do  we  come 
across  such  a  unique  collection  of  stories  as  Mr.  Umbstaetter's, 
containing  as  it  does  stories  that  are  clever  in  conception,  well- 
written  and  just  the  right  length  to  be  entertaining,  and  as  Mr. 
London  aptly  says,  stories  that  are  true  Black  Cat  stories. 

The  stories,  twelve  in  all,  are  so  absorbingly  interesting  and  so 
unusual  in  the  realm  of  fiction,  embodying  as  they  do  amusing 
character  sketches,  tales  of  humor,  pathos,  mystery  and  adven 
ture,  that  they  will  undoubtedly  appeal  to  a  large  class  of  readers 
who  are  not  attracted  to  the  ordinary  in  fiction. 


Selections  from 
L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 
List  of  Fiction 

WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 

Each  one  vol.,  library  IZmo,  cloth  decorative          .         .       SI. 50 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  GEORGIANA 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  YOUNG  PRETENDER,  Illus 
trated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  A  love-story  in  the  highest  degree,  a  dashing  story,  and  a  re 
markably  well  finished  piece  of  work."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

THE  BRIGHT  FACE  OF  DANGER 

Being  an  account  of  some  adventures  of  Henri  de  Launay,  son 
of  the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
"  Mr.  Stephens  has  fairly  outdone  himself.  We  thank  him 

heartily.    The  story  is  nothing  if  not  spirited  and  entertaining, 

rational  and  convincing."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

(40th  thousand.) 

"  This  is  easily  the  best  thing  that  Mr.  Stephens  has  yet  done. 
Those  familiar  with  his  other  novels  can  best  judge  the  measure 
of  this  praise,  which  is  generous."  —  Buffalo  News. 

CAPTAIN  RAVENSHAW 

OR,  THE  MAID  OF  CHEAPSIDE.  (52d  thousand.)  A  romance 
of  Elizabethan  London.  Illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle  and 
other  artists. 

Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan  have  we  had 
anything  so  good  in  the  blended  vein  of  romance  and  comedy. 

THE  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

A   ROMANCE   OF  PHILIPSE   MANOR   HOUSE   IN   1778.     (53d 
thousand.)     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
A  stirring  romance  of  the  Resolution,  with  its  scenes  laid  on 
neutral  territory. 


L.   C.  PAGE  <&•  COMPANY'S 


PHILIP  WINWOOD 

(70th  thousand.)  A  Sketch  of  the  Domestic  History  of  an 
American  Captain  in  the  War  of  Independence,  embracing 
events  that  occurred  between  and  during  the  years  1763  and 
1785  in  New  York  and  London,  Illustrated  by  E,  W.  D 
Hamilton. 

AN  ENEMY  TO  THE  KING 

(70th  thousand.)  From  the  "  Recently  Discovered  Memoir* 
of  the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire."  Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young, 
An  historical  romance  of  the  sixteenth  century,  describing  the 

adventures  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  court  of  Henry 

III.,  and  on  the  field  with  Henry  IV. 

THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 

A  STORY  OF  ADVENTURE.     (35th  thousand.)     Illustrated  bj 

H.  C.  Edwards. 

An  historical  romance  of  the  eighteenth  century,  being  an 
account  of  the  life  of  an  American  gentleman  adventurer  a' 
Jacobite  ancestry. 

A  GENTLEMAN  PLAYER 

His  ADVENTURES  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION  FOR  QUEEN  ELIZA- 
BETH.     (48th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
The  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who  joins  Shakespeare's  com 
pany  of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  protege  of  the  greaft 
poet. 

CLEMENTINA'S  HIGHWAYMAN 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated •       .      $1.50 

Mr.  Stephens  has  put  into  his  new  book,  "  Clementina's  High 
wayman,"  the  finest  qualities  of  plot,  construction,  and  literary 
finish. 

The  story  is  laid  in  the  mid-Georgian  period.  It  is  a  dashing, 
sparkling,  vivacious  comedy,  with  a  heroine  as  lovely  and 
changeable  as  an  April  day,  and  a  hero  all  ardor  and  daring, 

TALES  FROM  BOHEMIA 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Goldsmith. 

Cloth,  decorative  cover $1.50 

These  bright  and  clever  tales  deal  with  people  of  the  theatre 
and  odd  characters  in  other  walks  of  life  which  fringe  on  Bohemia 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

HAUNTERS  OF  THE  SILENCES 

Cloth,  one  volume,  with  many  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color         .        .        .  $2.00 

The  stories  in  Mr.  Roberta's  new  collection  are  the  strongest  and 
best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely  met 
with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent  "  In  the  Silences,"  where  they 
are  the  supreme  rulers.  Mr.  Roberts  has  written  of  them  sympa 
thetically,  as  always,  but  with  fine  regard  for  the  scientific  truth. 
"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

RED  FOX 

THE  STORY  OF  His  ADVENTUROUS  CAREER  IN  THE  RINGWAAK 
WILDS,  AND  OF  His  FINAL  TRIUMPH  OVER  THE  ENEMIES  OF 
His  KIND.     With  fifty  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative       .        .        .        .  $2.00 

"  True  in  substance  but  fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  interest 
old  and  young,  city-bound  and  free- footed,  those  who  know  ani 
mals  and  those  who  do  not."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  A  brilliant  chapter  in  natural  history."  —  Philadelphia  North 
American. 

THE  KINDRED  OF  THE  WILD 

A  BOOK  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.    With  fifty-one  full-page  plates  and 
many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull 

Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 

"  Is  in  many  wave  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  animal  stories 
that  has  appeared;  well  named  and  well  done."  —  John  Bur 
roughs. 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAILS 

A  companion  volume  to  "  The  Kindred  of  the  Wild."    With 
forty-eight  full-page  plates  and  many  decorations  from  draw 
ings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 


L.   C.  PAGE  <5r»  COMPANY'S 


"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  robust 
in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of  woodcraft. 
Among  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an 
enviable  place."  —  The  Outlook. 

"  This  is  a  book  full  of  delight.  An  additional  charm  lies  in  Mr. 
Bull's  faithful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion  all  their 
own  tell  the  story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and  supplementing 
the  pen  pictures  of  the  author."  —  Literary  Digest. 

THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WATER 

With  thirty  full-page  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull 
and  Frank  Vining  Smith.  Cover  design  and  decorations  by 
Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Every  paragraph  is  a  splendid  picture,  suggesting  in  a  few 

words  the  appeal  of  the  vast,   illimitable  wilderness."  —  The 

Chicago  Tribune. 

THE  HEART  THAT  KNOWS 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    .        .        .  $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  singularly  effective  strength,  luminous  hi  literary 

color,  rich  in  its  passionate,  yet  tender  drama." — New  York  Globe. 

EARTH'S  ENIGMAS 

A  new  edition  of  Mr.  Roberta's  first  volume  of  fiction,  pub 
lished  in  1892,  and  out  of  print  for  several  years,  with  the  addi 
tion  of  three  new  stories,  and  ten  illustrations  by  Charles 
Livingston  Bull. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover   .        .        .        .      $1.50 
"  It  will  rank  high  among  collections  of  short  stories.     In 
'  Earth's  Enigmas  '  is  a  wider  range  of  subject  than  in  the  '  Kin 
dred  of  the  Wild.'  "  —  Review  from  advance  sheets  of  the  illustrated 
edition  by  Tiffany  Blake  in  the  Chicago  Evening  Post 

BARBARA  LADD 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck. 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  ....      $1.50 
"  From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts  lures 
us  on  by  his  rapt  devotion  to  the  changing  aspects  of  Nature  and 
by  his  keen  and  sympathetic  analysis  of  human  character."  — 
Boston  Transcript 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


CAMERON    OF    LOCHIEL 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Philippe  Aubert  de  Gaspe",  with 

frontispiece  in  color  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Professor  Roberts  deserves  the  thanks  of  his  reader  for  giving 
a  wider  audience  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  this  striking  bit  of 
French  Canadian  literature."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

THE    PRISONER    OF    MADEMOISELLE 

With  frontispiece  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

A  tale  of  Acadia,  —  a  land  which  is  the  author's  heart's  delight, 

—  of  a  valiant  young  lieutenant  and  a  winsome  maiden,  who  first 

captures  and  then  captivates. 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  ANCIENT  WOOD 

With  six  illustrations  by  James  L.  Weston. 

Library  12mo,  decorative  cover $1.50 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  recent  days."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"  A  classic  twentieth-century  romance."  —  New  York  Commer 
cial  Advertiser. 

THE    FORGE    IN    THE    FOREST 

Being  the  Narrative  of  the  Acadian  Ranger,  Jean  de  Mer, 
Seigneur  de  Briart,  and  how  he  crossed  the  Black  Abb 4,  and 
of  his  adventures  in  a  strange  fellowship.  Illustrated  by  Henry 
Sandham,  R.  C.  A. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative  .  .  »  .  .  $1.50 
A  story  of  pure  love  and  heroic  adventure. 

BY    THE    MARSHES    OF    MINAS 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  $1.50 
Most  of  these  romances  are  in  the  author's  lighter  and  more 

playful  vein;    each  is  a  unit  of  absorbing  interest  and  exquisite 

workmanship. 

A    SISTER    TO    EVANGELINE 

Being  the  Story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went  into 
exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre". 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated    .        .        .      $1.50 
Swift  action,  fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  pas 
sion,  and  searching  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 


L.    C.   PAGE    &•>    COMPANY'S 


WORKS  OF 

L.  M*  MONTGOMERY 
ANNE   OF  GREEN   GABLES 

Illustrated  by  M.  A.  and  W.  A.  J.  Glaus.  12mo  .  $1.50 
"  Anne  of  Green  Gables  "  is  beyond  question  the  most  popular 
girl  heroine  in  recent  years.  Poets,  statesmen,  humorists,  critics, 
and  the  great  public  have  lost  their  hearts  to  the  charming  Anne. 
"  Anne  of  Green  Gables  "  is  not  a  book  of  a  season,  to  attain  a 
wide  popularity  for  a  brief  space  and  sink  into  oblivion  with  many 
another  "  best  seller,"  but  its  literary  merit  is  such  that  it  is 
bound  to  have  a  permanent  place  in  literature  and  continue  to 
increase  in  popularity  with  each  succeeding  season. 

"  In  '  Anne  of  Green  Gables  '  you  will  find  the  dearest  and  most 
moving  and  delightful  child  since  the  immortal  Alice."  —  Mark 
Twain  in  a  letter  to  Francis  Wilson. 

ANNE  OF  AVONLEA 

Illustrated  by  George  Gibbs.     12mp      .        .        .        .        $1.50 

In  this  volume  Anne  is  as  fascinating  as  ever,  and  the  author 
has  introduced  several  new  characters,  including  the  highly 
imaginative  and  charming  little  boy,  Paul  Irving,  whose  quaint 
sayings  will  recall  to  the  reader  the  delightful  Anne  on  her  first 
appearance  at  Green  Gables. 

"  Here  we  have  a  book  as  human  as  '  David  Harum,'  a  heroine 
who  outcharms  a  dozen  princesses  of  fiction,  and  reminds  you 
of  some  sweet  girl  you  know,  or  knew  back  in  the  days  when  the 
world  was  young  and  you  threw  away  your  sponge  that  you 
might  have  to  borrow  hers  to  clean  your  slate."  —  San  Francisco 
Bulletin. 

11  A  book  to  lift  the  spirit  and  send  the  pessimist  into  bank 
ruptcy!  "  —  Meredith  Nicholson. 

KILMENY   OF   THE   ORCHARD 

Illustrated  by  George  Gibbs $1.25 

"  '  Kilmeny  of  the  Orchard  '  is  a  book  of  rare  quality,  difficult 
to  describe  but  evident  to  those  who  have  eyes  to  see."  —  The 
Bookshelf. 

"  '  Kilmeny  of  the  Orchard  '  is  a  story  born  in  the  heart  of 
Arcadia  and  brimful  of  the  sweet  and  simple  life  of  the  primitive 
environment."  —  Boston  Herald. 

"  '  Kilmeny  of  the  Orchard  '  is  a  story  of  decidedly  unusual 
conception  and  interest,  and  will  rival  this  author's  earlier  works 
in  popularity."  — Kalamaz6o  Evening  Press. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

LILIAN  BELL 

CAROLINA    LEE 

With  a  frontispiece  in  color  by  Dora  Wheeler  Keith. 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover       .  .    $1  50 

"  A  charming  portrayal  of  the  attractive  life  of  the  South, 

refreshing  as  a  breeze  that  blows  through  a  pine  forest  "  — 

Albany  Times-Union. 

HOPE    LORING 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    .       .       .  $1.50 

"  Tall,  slender,  and  athletic,  fragile-looking,  vet  with  nerves 

and  sinews  of  steel  under  the  velvet  flesh,  frank  as  a  boy  and 

tender  and  beautiful  as  a  woman,  free  and  independent,  yet  not 

bold  —  such  is  '  Hope  Loring.'  "  —  Dorothy  Dix. 

ABROAD    WITH    THE    JIMMIES 

With  a  portrait  in  duogravure,  of  the  author. 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    .        .        .        .      $1.50 
"  Full  of  ozone,  of  snap,  of  ginger,  of  swing  and  momentum." 
—  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

AT    HOME    WITH    THE    JARDINES 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  ....  $1  50 
"  Bits  of  gay  humor,  sunny,  whimsical  philosophy,  and  keen 
indubitable  insight  into  the  less  evident  i.spects  and  workings 
of  pure  human  nature,  with  a  slender  thread  of  a  cleverly 
extraneous  love  story,  keep  the  interest  of  the  reader  fresh."  — 
Chicago  Record-Herald. 

THE    CONCENTRATIONS    OF    BEE 

With  colored  frontispiece 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  ccver    .        .        .        .      $1.50 

"  One  of  the  cleverest  women  writers  of  fiction  is  Lilian  Bell. 

She  belongs  to  the  younger  class,  old  enough  to  have  experience, 

but  not  old  enough  to  have  lost  the  saving  grace  of  enthusiasm  " 

—  Los  Angeles  Express. 

THE     INTERFERENCE     OF     PATRICIA    AND    A 
BOOK    OF    GIRLS 

With  a  frontispiece  from  drawing  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    .        .        .  $1.50 

"Lilian  Bell  surely  understands  girls,  for  she  depicts  all  the 
variations  of  girl  nature  so  charmingly."  —  Chicago  Journal. 


L.   C.  PAGE   &°    COMPANY'S 


WORKS  OF 

MORLEY  ROBERTS 

RACHEL    MARR 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  tremendous  force."  —  Elia  W.  Peattie 
"  In  atmosphere,  if  nothing  else,  the  story  is  absolutely  per 
fect."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

LADY    PENELOPE 

With  nine  illustrations  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  A  fresh  and  original  bit  of  comedy  as  amusing  as  it  is  auda 
cious."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

THE    IDLERS 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  John  C.  Frohn. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  It  is  as  absorbing  as  the  devil."  —  The  New  York  Sun. 

THE  PROMOTION  OF  THE  ADMIRAL 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated    .        .        .      $1.50 

"  If  any  one  writes  better  sea  stories  than  Mr.  Roberts,  we 

don't  know  who  it  is;  and  if  there  is  a  better  sea  story  of  its  kind 

than  this  it  would  be  a  joy  to  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  it."  — 

New  York  Sun. 

THE    FLYING    CLOUD 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece         .        .      $1.50 
"It  is  the  drama  of  the  sea:  human  nature  stripped  naked 

by  salt  water  alchemy  and  painted  as  only  the  author  or  Joseph 

Conrad  could  paint  it."  —  New  York  Times. 

THE    BLUE    PETER 

With  frontispiece  by  Henry  Roth. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  of  Morley  Roberts  that  he  is  one  of 

the  very  few  writers  of  to-day  who  live  up  to  the  best  traditions 

of  the  sea  story."  —  The  Bookman. 

DAVID    BRAN 

Cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece  in  color   .        .        .      $1.50 
In  "  David  Bran  "  Mr.  Roberts  presents  in  a  new  light  the  old 
story  of  a  man  and  two  women. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

ALICE   MacGOWAN  AND  GRACE  Mac- 

GOWAN   COOKE 
RETURN 

With  six  illustrations  by  C.  D.  Williams. 
Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative      .        .        .  .        $1.50 

"  So  rich  in  color  is  this  story,  so  crowded  with  figures,  it  seems 
like  a  bit  of  old  Italian  wall  painting."  —  New  York  Sun. 

THE  GRAPPLE 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  The  story  is  so  original,  so  strong,  and  so  finely  told  that  it 
deserves  a  large  and  thoughtful  public."  —  N.  Y.  Times. 

THE  LAST  WORD 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated         .        .        $1.50 
"  A  charming,  and  wholly  fascinating  piece  of  fiction."  — 
Louisville  Post. 

HULDAH 

With  illustrations  by  Fanny  Y.  Cory. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

Here  we  have  the  great-hearted,  capable  woman  of  the  Texas 
plains. 

WORKS  OF 

NATHAN  GALLIZffiR 
THE  SORCERESS  OF   ROME 

With  four  drawings  in  color  by  "  The  Kinneys." 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

The  love-story  of  Otto  III.,  the  boy  emperor,  and  Stephania, 
wife  of  the  Senator  Crescentius  of  Rome. 

CASTEL  DEL  MONTE 

With  six  illustrations  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

A  romance  of  the  fall  of  the  Hohenstaufen  dynasty  in  Italy. 

THE   COURT   OF   LUCIFER 

With  four  drawings  in  color  by  "  The  Kinneys." 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

An  historical  romance  woven  around  the  famous  Borgia  family. 


L.   C.  PAGE   S*    COMPANY'S 


WORKS  OF 

OTHER  AUTHORS 

A    GENTLEMAN    OF    QUALITY 

By   FREDERICK    VAN    RENSSELAER    DEY. 
Cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece  in  color  .       .       .        $1.50 
"  A  romance  that  is  vivid  and  original.    The  author  shows  a 
great  gift  of  originality  and  dramatic  insight.    It  is  a  story  that 
will  hold  firmly  the  attention  of  even  the  veteran  novel  reader 
to  the  end."  —  The  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  QUINCY  ADAMS 
SAWYER  AND  MASON'S  CORNER  FOLKS 

By  CHARLES    FELTON    PIDGIN,   author   of   "  Quincy   Adams 
Sawyer,"  "  Blennerhasset,"  "  Stephen  Holton,"  etc. 
Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  Henry  Roth     .      .        .     $1.50 
"  The  book  is  intensely  human,  bright,  witty,  hopeful,  kindly, 
and  interesting."  —  Christian  Endeavor  World. 

THE    MYSTERY    OF    MISS    MOTTE 

By  CAROLINE  ATWATER  MASON,  author  of  "  A  Lily  of  France." 
Cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece  in  color  .  .  $1.25 
"It  is  a  clean,  wholesome  story  of  present-day  life,  with 

nothing  far-fetched  or  overdrawn."  —  United  Presbyterian. 
"  A  love  story  particularly  neat  and  sweet,  in  which  mystery 

plays  a  part.    Mrs.  Mason  develops  her  romance  skilfully  against 

a  very  pleasant  social  background."  —  New  York  World. 

THE    CALL    OF    THE    SOUTH 

By  ROBERT  LEE  DURHAM. 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  Henry  Roth      .        .        $1.50 

"  '  A  terrific  story  but  a  true  one  '  —  this  is  what  the  thinking 
world  is  saying  concerning  '  The  Call  of  the  South.'  "  —  The 
Baltimore  Sun. 

"  The  force  of  the  book  is  tremendous.  In  dramatic  power  it 
equals  Tolstoi's  'Resurrection.'  "  —  Rev.  Martin  D.  Hardin. 

TAG;   OR,  THE  CHIEN  BOULE  DOG 

By  VALANCE  PATRIARCHE. 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Goldsmith. 

Cloth  decorative $1.00 

"  It  is  fresh  in  plot,  bright  and  merry  in  spirit,  full  of  kindly 
humor  in  style  and  incident."  —  Grand  Rapids  Herald. 

"  The  entire  tale  is  a  delightful  bit  of  humor."  —  Portland 
Press. 


LTS7   OF  FICTION  II 

A  CAVALIER   OF   VIRGINIA 

By  G.  E.  THEODORE  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  Hemming,  the 

Adventurer,"  "  Captain  Love,"  etc. 

Library  12mp,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated          .   ^    .        $1.50 

"  The  story  is  a  thrilling  one,  well  told,  with  an  interest  that 
is  sustained  from  start  to  finish."  —  Portland  Evening  Express. 

"  A  story  which  people  will  want  to  read.  It  so  grips  with 
its  interest  that  having  once  begun  there  is  no  stopping-place 
short  of  the  end."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

BAHAMA  BILL 

By  T.  JENKINS  HAINS,  author  of  "  The  Black  Barque," 
"  The  Voyage  of  the  Arrow,"  etc.  With  frontispiece  in  color 
by  H.  R.  Reuterdahl. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  As  for  Bahama  Bill,  the  reader  will  like  him  whether  he  will 

or  no;  he  dominates  the  book,  unscrupulous  though  he  may  be. 

Nevertheless  there  is  not  a  mean  streak  in  him.     We  shall  be 

tempted  to  read  l  Bahama  Bill,'  several  times."  —  Springfield 

Union. 

THE  LEAD  OF  HONOUR 

By   NORVAL   RICHARDSON.     With   frontispiece   in   color  by 

Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  It  is  rarely  that  a  love  story  is  written  in  these  days  that  has 
in  it  so  much  of  fine  and  lofty  sentiment,  of  so  high  ideals  and  so 
absorbing  in  its  romance  that  the  reader  for  the  time  is  lifted 
out  of  himself."  —  Springfield  Union. 

MY  HEART  AND  STEPHANIE 

By  REGINALD  WRIGHT  KAUFFMAN,  author  of  "  Miss  Frances 
Baird,  Detective,"  etc.  Illustrated  by  A.  G.  Lamed. 

Library  12mo,  cloth $1.50 

"  The  story  goes  with  a  fascinating  rush  which  is  most  enter 
taining,  and  so  thoroughly  imbued  is  the  reader  with  the  spirit 
of  the  plot  that  he  is  almost  sorry  to  end  the  mystery  with  the 
last  chapter,  even  if  the  ending  is  a  most  happy  and  logical  one." 
—  Boston  Globe. 

"  Parisian  life  in  Bohemian  circles  is  picturesquely  described, 
and  probably  there  has  never  been  a  better  word  painting  of 
restaurant  gaiety  than  Mr.  Kauffman's  account  of  the  famous 
<  Abbaye  '  with  its  brilliant  gathering."  —  Philadelphia  Item. 


12  L.  C.  PAGE   &    COMPANY'S 

PEGGY  AT   SPINSTER   FARM 

By  HELEN  M.  WINSLOW,  author  of  "  Literary  Boston  of  To 
day,"  etc. 

Illustrated  from  original  photographs  by  Mary  G.  Huntsman. 

12mo  ...  .        $1.50 

Whatever  Miss  Winslow  writes  is  good,  for  she  is  in  accord 

with  the  life  worth  living.     The  Spinster,  her  niece  "  Peggy," 

the    Professor,    and    young    Robert    Graves,  —  not    forgetting 

Hiram,  the  hired  man,  make  a  very  cheerful  company. 

"  Very  alluring  is  the  picture  she  draws  of  the  old-fashioned 
house,  the  splendid  old  trees,  the  pleasant  walks,  the  gorgeous 
sunsets,  and  —  or  it  would  not  be  Helen  Winslow  —  the  cats."  — 
The  Boston  Transcript. 

THE  GOLDEN  DOG 

A  ROMANCE  OF  QUEBEC.     By  WILLIAM  KIRBY. 

New  authorized  edition,  printed  from  new  plates.    Illustrated 

by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 

One  vol.,  library  12mo,  cloth  .        .        .        $1.25 

A  powerful  romance  of  love,  intrigue,  and  adventure  in  the 
times  of  Louis  XV.  and  Madame  de  Pompadour.  Mr.  Kirby  has 
shown  how  false  prides  and  ambitions  stalked  abroad  at  this 
time,  how  they  entered  the  heart  of  man  to  work  his  destruction, 
and  particularly  how  they  influenced  a  beautiful  demon  in  female 
form  to  continued  vengeances."  —  Boston  Herald. 

COMMENCEMENT   DAYS 

By  VIRGINIA  CHURCH. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated          .        .        $1.50 

"  A  delightful  tale  of  college  life,  one  that  cannot  fail  to  appeal 

to  the  lover  of  good  things  in  fiction.    It  is  well  worth  reading." 

—  Rochester  Union  &  Advertiser. 

HELL-FIRE  HARRISON 

Library    12mo,    cloth    decorative,    illustrated    by    Frank    T. 

Merrill $1.00 

"  The  story  is  charmingly  told,  the  people  are  alive,  and  the 
plot  unfolds  easily  and  naturally."  —  Chicago  Banker. 

"  The  story  is  all  too  brief,  being  an  absorbing  tale  with  plenty 
of  sparkle  and  life."  —  Boston  Transcrip'. 

"  Lovers  of  history,  as  well  as  the  gencial  reader,  will  find  this 
story  of  absorbing  interest,  as  the  manners,  customs,  the  history 
and  the  religion  of  the  time  of  George  III.  are  set  forth  in  a  way 
that  proves  extremely  fascinating."  —  N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


25Aug58AB 

. 

AUGH 


REC'D  LD 

FEB     9  1961 


I'l  >w 

REC'D  L.U 

. 

JUN  1  7  19W 

LD  21A-50m-8,'57 
(C8481slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


YB  75720 


